


His Past, His Present, His Future

by JuliusSneezer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Holy Rome, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Rated M For Romano's Language, Rated M for language, Rome - Freeform, Vacation, beach, gerita - Freeform, itager, spamano - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-01-04 18:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 57,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18349700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliusSneezer/pseuds/JuliusSneezer
Summary: Germany is taken aback when Italy attacks France at a world meeting. Italy is extremely shaken, so Germany decides to stay with Italy until he is feeling better. Is it at Italy's country that Germany will figure out why Italy attacked France? Will he figure out secrets about him and the rest of the former Axis powers? Rated 'M' for Romano's language.





	1. The Fight

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Hetalia (though I wish I did).
> 
> Also, this is my first fic, so please be nice. If my characters are too OOC, please give me advice! Constructive criticism is awesome.
> 
> Enjoy the fic!

To say that Germany was frightened would have been a gross understatement. He grabbed the arm rests of his car seat with a white-knuckle grip, his slicked-back hair coming undone as the wind rushed through the open roof of the car. His blue eyes were wide open with fear as the car whipped around a corner into another lane. He glanced with blatant disbelief at the driver.  
Italy was completely calm as he drove with a content smile, one arm resting on the open window as he drove one-handed, his hair batting madly around his head. Germany could not believe his eyes as he realized that Italy was driving with his usual narrow squint.

Germany had no idea how Japan was reacting, knowing that the last member of the trio had driven with Italy before. Germany was in no state of mind to check the back seat, keeping his eyes glued forward as if his concentration could save them from a crash. To his immense relief, he could see the white house in the distance. The World Meeting was being hosted by America this year. Germany’s moment of relief was gone as soon as it came as Italy breezed through an intersection, the nose of the car barreling toward the building. 

“Italy!” Germany shouted over the honking of other cars.

Just as they were about to drive onto the sidewalk, Italy jerked the wheel to the side. 

Germany raised a hand to the handle attached to the ceiling, shutting his eyes. 

The car turned to a 90-degree angle, sliding into a perfect parallel park. 

Italy let out a content sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt. He leaned forward in his seat, pulled a comb out of his pocket, and combed his auburn hair in the rearview mirror. “What a pretty day for driving!” 

Germany sat there for a moment, his chest heaving as his mind caught up with him. “I- Mein Gott.” He turned, straining against the seat belt as he checked on Japan. “Japan are you okay?” 

Japan was sitting in the car with a seemingly serene air. Germany would have thought he were completely fine if not for his ashen complexion, his dilated eyes, and the fierce white grip his hands had on his knees. “Yes.” He said simply, his voice unusually shaky. 

Germany looked over to Italy, his eyebrows furrowing into a fierce glare. “Were you trying to get us killed?!” 

Italy’s hand paused in mid-air as he turned to Germany. “What do you mean? We were totally safe! And I got us here early!” He pointed to the car’s dashboard.

Germany glanced over to the clock briefly. 8:26. They were supposed to be here by 9:00. “You call that safe?!” 

“Of course! We didn’t crash, did we?” He asked. 

“Just because we didn’t crash doesn’t mean we were safe! Multiple traffic laws broken, you almost ran over several birds and a cat…” He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Italy would be the death of him, surely. But then again, today he almost was. 

Italy smiled. “But we didn’t crash! We didn’t run over any birds or cats, and don’t tell me you haven’t ever broken a couple traffic laws yourself, Germany.” 

“I haven’t.” Germany’s hand left his face as he glared over at Italy. 

Italy’s smile dropped. “You haven’t? You haven’t taken a five-minute drive without a seat belt?” 

“No.” 

“Changed lanes without a turn signal?” 

“Never. I don’t have a death wish.” 

“Even when no one was there?” Italy asked, quirking a brow. 

Germany crossed his arms with stubborn pride. “Of course not.” 

Italy furrowed his brow. “Hmm.” He turned in his seat. “What about you, Japan?” 

Japan finally looked up from the floor. “A- a couple of times, I suppose.” 

“Exactly! Japan does it, Romano does it whenever he drives, everyone breaks a couple of traffic laws sometimes. Am I really so bad if I do it?” 

Germany raised an eyebrow at Italy. “I’m not sure I understand your-”

“-Excuse me,” Japan interrupted, escaping the car frantically. He stumbled over to a nearby trash can and bent over it, vomiting. 

Before Germany’s hand even contacted his seat buckle, Italy was already there rubbing soothing circles on Japan’s back. “There, there, it’s okay! I’m sorry, Japan, I forgot you got motion sickness.” 

As Germany unbuckled his seatbelt, he remembered his unopened water battle sitting in the cupholder. He grabbed it before leaving the car and joining the other two nations. Just as he made it over there, Japan straightened and spit into the garbage can. “It is okay, Italy.” 

“Doesn’t look okay,” Germany added as he handed Japan the water bottle. 

“Thank you, Germany.” He took a long drag from the water bottle, swishing the water around his cheeks before he swallowed it. “It is good to get it out before my presentation, I suppose.” He took another sip. 

Italy brightened, a hand returning to Japan’s shoulder. “That’s right! Your presentation! Are you ready?” 

“As ready as I can be,” he said as he capped the water bottle. He led the two back to the car to grab their stuff. “I’ve been working on it for months. I practiced all day yesterday.” 

Germany was not surprised. Japan was one of the most hardworking people he knew, and he had become accustomed to the fact that he wanted to provide a quality presentations for the other nations. “You sound prepared.” 

Japan nodded, swinging the strap of his laptop bag around his shoulder. 

Germany leaned across the driver’s seat to grab his notebook and pen. He stood up and was about to pat his pockets for his backup pen as Italy brushed past him. 

“You’re going to do great!” He bent over to grab his notebooks and box of pastels. 

Germany shook his head at his colleague’s antics, trying not to focus too hard on how well-tailored Italy’s suit was as he straightened back up. Germany’s eyes flickered over Italy. He was wearing a steel grey suit, tailored to fit his lithe form, with a black button-up shirt and a tie that matched his suit. His hair was perfect, of course. Damn it.

Italy waved. “Germany, you okay?” 

To Germany’s despair, his cheeks were turning pink. “I was making sure you looked presentable.” He turned to Japan, noticing the slight upturn on the smaller nation’s lips. Damn, he noticed.  
“Do I look okay, Germany?” 

Germany had no doubt in his mind, but he surveyed Japan quickly just to make sure. He was wearing a black suit, also tailored, with a starched white shirt and a black tie. He nodded. “Yes.” 

Italy snickered. “You may want to check yourself, Germany…” 

Germany frowned. “I checked myself in the mirror this morning, What I’m wearing is perfectly fine.” He remembered his black suit, his white shirt, his grey tie. 

Italy pointed at Germany’s hair. “Your gel came undone while we were driving.” 

Germany’s eyes widened slightly. He self-consciously smoothed his hair down with his hand. “Is it okay?” 

“It’s… not the best.” Japan answered. “Perhaps we can fix it inside.” 

Germany looked up at the white house, decisively smoothing his hair down again. “Right.” He walked toward the building, starting up the steps. 

Behind him, Italy and Japan exchanged a glance before they followed him up. 

Their steps echoed on the floor of the entrance hall as they made their way through. Germany blushed slightly as he noticed all the attention they were gaining. How could they not gain attention? They were the personifications of nations. At the sound of a couple whispers, Germany flattened his hair again. 

“There’s a restroom.” Japan muttered to Germany. 

Germany made a beeline toward the restrooms, resisting the urge to fast-walk. That would make the situation worse. The more dignity he held on to, the better. 

His mouth fell open as he glanced in the mirror. While the strands had their gel on still, his hair was still lazily drooping to the side in a middle part. There was no way to fix this, was there?  
Upon hearing Italy laughing, he turned fiercely. “Stop laughing! There is no way I can go into the meeting like this!” 

Italy’s laughing reduced to a giggle. “Sorry, Germany, your expression was just so funny. I can fix it!” 

Japan’s brow furrowed slightly. “How?” 

Italy’s smile dampened slightly. “Germany’s not going to like it,” 

“Anything is better than this.” Germany protested, refusing to look in the mirror again. 

Italy withdrew the comb from his pocket. “You’re going to have to wash your hair in the sink.” 

There were a couple of quiet seconds. The only sound was the dripping of a faucet in a sink. 

“No.” Was Germany’s simple answer. 

Italy’s smile fell away. “B- why not? You said yourself you can’t walk into the meeting like this!” 

“What do we do if someone walks in and I’m bent over a sink?” Germany couldn’t even comprehend how humiliating that would be. 

“Nothing?” Italy offered. “What are they going to do, tell us to stop? We’re nations! Anyone who walks in here will just ignore us.” 

“There’s no way I’m doing that.” Germany crossed his arms stubbornly. 

Japan raised his palms in a peace-making gesture. “Germany, it is really the only thing Italy can do. Nobody will take us seriously otherwise.” 

Germany paused, considering Japan. He sighed, turning to the mirror. His hair was as messy as ever. Not to mention getting it fixed might ease Japan’s mind about how seriously others would take his presentation. “Fine. How long do we have?” 

Italy tilted the Rolex on his right wrist up. “Twenty-five minutes.” 

“My hair should dry in time…” He allowed. 

“If we start now,” Italy pointed out. 

Without a word, Germany unbuttoned his jacket and handed it to Japan. He threw his tie over his shoulder, leaned over, and turned on the water. He took one last resolving breath before dipping his head into the sink and scrubbing furiously. 

They walked into the meeting at 8:50, Germany’s cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. Germany’s hair was in a side-part, his bangs combed toward the left side of his face. He took his seat without saying a word to the others, hoping that no-one would notice. Italy took a seat on his right, and Japan on his left. The both of them gave him reassuring glances that he ignored as he took out his paper and pens. All was going well, he supposed. No one had seemed to-

“Dude!” A shrill voice interrupted his thoughts. 

Germany let out a sigh just loud enough for him and his friends to hear. Of all the people who could have noticed…  
“Ciao, America!” Italy said. 

America high-fived him. “’Sup, dudes?! Germany, is that a new hairstyle?” 

Germany sighed again, this time loud enough for America to hear. “Ja, I only have it because-” 

“’Cause it looks pretty great!” 

Germany looked up for the first time at America. “What?” 

“Yeah!” America planted both palms firmly on the table. “You look less angry this way, y’know. It’s something different, but still sensible! Looks good!” He offered Germany a handshake. “Welcome, by the way. Hope the D.C. traffic wasn’t too bad for you.” 

“Thank you.” He sent a glance over to Italy. “The traffic wasn’t the problem.” 

Italy had the sense to rub the back of his head sheepishly. 

America nodded. “Glad to hear it. Japan, dude! How’ve you been?” He went around Germany to take the unoccupied seat next to Japan. The two unlikely friends launched into a conversation about Japan’s presentation.

“I wanted to invite you and Japan over to my house for dinner after the meeting.” Italy offered, looking over at Germany. Though Germany knew he was trying to hide it, he could see that Italy’s eyes kept flickering up to the new hairstyle. 

Germany considered the invitation, turning his notebook to an open page and writing the date at the top as a distraction. “That sounds good, I don’t think I have anything going on this evening.” Germany smiled a bit at the thought, excited to join Italy for dinner that evening. His smile faded, however, as he realized that a tiny bit of him was hoping that Japan would not be able to make it. That it would just be him and Italy. Together. Eating dinner. Just talking and laughing. He hunched over his paper and determinedly scrawled the words: Meeting- Ocean Pollution – America. This was no way to think. Japan was their friend. And Italy… He looked over at the nation as he thumbed through the pages of his note book to a fresh page. 

Ever since World War Two… that one Valentine’s day… it spurned feelings, thoughts, and confusion in him. And now in 2019… It’s been almost 80 years. He has been in denial for a long time, but he was logical. He knew that he felt for Italy. He’s known he has for a long time now. But it was never to be. Maybe if they were human. Maybe- maybe if Italy felt the same way about him. He spurned the thought away as America made his way to the other side of the table, sitting at the head, opposite of Germany. He noticed America leaning over to Russia and pointing to Germany.  
He leaned over his papers again. Damn America… 

The meeting was called to order at 9:02. It was decided that Japan would present his bit right after lunch (which was catered by Red Robin, America added). In the meantime, they would discuss the pollution in the ocean, how big the problem was, and after lunch Japan would give his presentation on potential solutions. During the meeting, Japan was dutifully taking notes on what was happening, as was Germany. As he glanced over at Italy’s notes, he noticed that he was drawing with his pastels. Upon further examination, he noticed that he was drawing Switzerland, who was currently speaking. It was a perfect picture. He furrowed his brows. While he was plenty impressed with Italy’s drawing skills, he felt that the middle of a meeting was not the place to utilize them. Nonetheless, he let it be. It wasn’t worth the effort. 

America adjourned for lunch gleefully, excited to share the catering with everyone. Everyone ate their meals gladly. Germany listened as Japan accepted Italy’s dinner invitation, guilt-ridden as he felt a twinge of disappointment. Everyone finished their lunch around twenty minutes into the hour and a half long break, separating into different groups to chat. 

The trio joined a conversation with France, America, England, Russia, and Canada. They were talking about current affairs going on in their country. 

“My country is kinda’ hell right now, dudes.” America said with a smile. “My boss is stirring the pot quite a bit, and I can tell your bosses are getting tired of him.” He looked around the group, noticing that everyone was kind of avoiding his eyes. “It’s fine, guys, I can join the club there.” He said with a bit of a laugh. “What about you, France? You’ve been kind of quiet,” 

France shrugged a slight bit. “Nothing much to report here!” He said in a relieved tone. “All has been rather peaceful.” 

America snickered. “We know. You haven’t really gotten up to much in a long while. Even during the world wars you were kind of sitting back, huh?” 

France allowed a smile and shook his head, much to Germany’s relief. He was worried that this would aggravate France, but he appeared to take it in good humor. “What can I say? I can only do what my boss says.” 

Germany was about to agree but decided to stay silent. The world wars were still a bit of a sensitive topic for him, and he didn’t like bringing up his past mistakes. Even if it was the bosses of the country that caused them. 

“To be fair, since the United Nations were formed there haven’t been nearly as many wars as there were back in the old days.” England chimed in, raising a single bushy eyebrow. 

“Well yeah, dude, but we’ve still had stuff going on even after that. France has been kind of chilling except for a bunch of strikes, I feel like you’ve been sitting on your ass since you caused Holy Rome’s fall. And that was _ages_ ago!” America pointed out with a laugh. 

There was a tense pause. Germany felt confused as Italy tensed beside him. He looked over as he noticed that Italy’s eyes were wide open.  
“What?” Italy almost whispered. 

America continued to laugh, unaware of what he’d just done. “Yeah, dude! That was pretty badass, but that’s no excuse to leave the rest of the work to us.” He glanced around, wondering if his jokes landed. But all eyes were on Italy and France. 

Germany glanced around the group, gauging everyone’s reactions. England was aghast. Japan’s expression was almost exactly like it was back in the car. Like he was going to throw up. Russia’s usual smile was not on his face, making him even more unsettling than usual. Canada and America just seemed confused, looking at each other questioningly. Germany noticed with a pang that England and France shot urgent looks at each other before considering Germany for a moment. What the hell was going on?

“France… he’s kidding, right?” Italy said it with a small smile, but his voice was still almost at a whisper. Almost like if he spoke any louder, the atmosphere would shatter. “You wouldn’t…”  
France finally looked into his eyes. “Italy…” He sighed, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “I- yes… I did, but-” 

Italy launched forward and his hands seized France by the collar, effectively interrupting France’s explanation. He pushed France up against the wall, his usually soft brown eyes filled with poison.  
“You bastard!” 

The others were too taken aback to take any action.

“Little brother, I-” 

“I am not your little brother!” Italy pulled France away from the wall and slammed him back into it. “Not after what you did!” 

The lull of conversation in the background faded into nothingness as the other nations started to notice. Germany barely noted Spain and Prussia materializing behind him, watching what was going on.

France opened his mouth and closed it, apparently making the wise decision not to say anything. 

“He was a child!” Italy shouted, louder than ever. His usual light aired voice was replaced by something raw and dark. Something pained and tortured. “And you killed him!” Italy leaned into France, his voice still loud. “I loved him! You knew I loved him! I told you and you killed him!” He once again slammed France into the wall, harder this time. The sickening smack echoed through the room. “He was a child!” He repeated in full volume.

Germany was shocked out of his frozen state, pushing England to the side as he gripped Italy’s shoulders and pulled him away from France. 

Italy struggled against Germany’s arms.“Let me go! Let me-” Italy broke out of Germany’s arms. He stepped forward and pulled his fist back, stepping forward and swinging it into France’s face. France reeled back from the force. 

“Italy!” Germany’s eyes wide, he stepped forward and grabbed at Italy again. This time, Italy made no attempt to escape. He curled into Germany’s chest and stayed. Though this display would have normally embarrassed Germany, he knew that he had to get Italy out of there. There was no way he could stay there after what happened. He looked back up at France. 

France stood there and touched his fingers below his nose, pulling away bloodied fingertips. But he didn’t look mad or angry. He didn’t look shocked. He looked sorrowful. Germany could have sworn that he looked at him in this way. Not Italy.

Germany looked around. Only a few nations including himself were surprised. He noticed that Spain, Prussia, Austria, and Hungary looked crestfallen. He furrowed his brow. What was wrong with these people? “Let’s go, Italy.” 

Italy said nothing, allowing Germany to push him slightly toward the door. Germany’s hands never left Italy’s shoulders. As his back turned, he heard Japan. 

“I have to go.” 

“Japan, you still have to do your presentation.” America said, his voice unusually muted.

Japan pulled a flash drive out of his pocket. “My laptop bag is in my seat. Everything is already prepared. The slides should explain everything.” He handed it to America. “I trust you will deliver this presentation well, but I have to help my friend.” 

America’s fist curled around the flash drive. “Should have expected that. Take good care of him.” 

Japan nodded once and turned to fast walk toward Germany and Italy. 

Germany continued his path, stopping as he passed his brother. “Prussia.” He began, facing him. “I know you and France are close. Why didn’t you help him?” 

Prussia’s normally cheerful, confident face was one of heartbroken sorrow. His normal raspy voice was soft with tenderness. “Because he deserved it.”


	2. The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Italy attacked France at the meeting, Japan and Germany must come to his aid to help him with the aftermath of his terrible discovery.

Germany ignored the mutters of the people in the corridor as he steered Italy out of the building and toward the car. “Watch the steps.” He said quietly as they descended the stairs to the building. 

“Germany!” He heard. 

Germany turned his head to see Japan sprinting down the steps, his usually composed self rushing toward the two of them. “I will sit in the back with Italy.” 

The concern Japan he had for Italy touched Germany’s heart, but he found that he could not smile at Japan’s thoughtfulness. “Of course.” 

He steered Italy toward the back seat of the car, opening the door. Italy bent over and sat down without prompting, apparently needing the seat. He stood perfectly still as Germany leaned over and buckled him in. He looked at Italy as he finished, noticing the tears trapped in his long lashes. He could scarcely believe this was the same man slamming France against the wall several minutes ago. He stood, realizing that even leaving Italy in the backseat as he drove them all to his house felt like too much separation. Before he closed the door, he put his hand on Italy’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. While this display of affection would have normally delighted Italy, Germany found that the only response that he got was that Italy closed his eyes. He let go, shutting the door.

He sat in the driver’s seat and buckled in, finding that Japan sat in the middle seat, his and Italy’s legs touching. He started the car and turned on the AC. He pulled into the traffic, hoping that the drive to Italy would be relatively short. Travel for countries have always been odd. No one has ever really been able to understand it, and since it is illegal to do experiments on national personifications, no experimentation have been done. Travel usually depended on the mood of the traveler and the bond the traveler had with the destination, among other things. There were many variables. As Germany encountered the coast of America, a paved road extended over the ocean. The occasional wave lapped over the fresh pavement, but it was completely safe. As he started to drive over the ocean, he peered back into the rearview mirror. 

Japan, who was usually so opposed to touch, appeared to have been making an exception as he slung an arm around Italy’s slumped shoulders. Germany was slightly relieved to see that Italy had responded to the touch, leaning into Japan’s side. Japan’s uncharacteristically worried eyes contacted Germany’s in the mirror, and they both shared a confused gaze. A mutual question of “What happened back there?” Germany returned his eyes onto the road, pondering that very question. What was that all about? This Holy Rome, guy… he had heard of him. He knew who he was, and he knew that he was a formidable enemy before he fell. Of course, all this occurred before Germany was even unified, so it all happened before he was even alive. His mind’s eye watched as Italy slammed France against that wall, his usually friendly eyes glowing with rare malice. He swore he could hear the echo of Italy’s voice as he shouted that he loved Holy Rome. He was a child and he died. 

He remembered the desperate anger. The desolate sorrow. So much had happened in a span of a minute. So many new questions that were unanswered, and likely would remain that way. His memory flashed back to that same Valentine’s day where Germany’s feelings for Italy planted themselves. He remembered the desperate question if Italy had ever had a previous love. He remembered Italy’s reluctant answer that he did. Another boy. 

Of course. Germany’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. How could he never have asked? Why didn’t he ever ask? That was a think friends talked about. And yet he never brought it up. Maybe it was because he has never been a fan of heart-to-heart talks. Or maybe, he thought. You were jealous. He pushed away this thought as the scenery around him started to look familiar. In the distance, he could see Italy’s house. Glancing down at the clock, Germany noticed he had been driving for about ten minutes. He looked back up as the new pavement of the magic rode blended into the old asphalt of Italy’s driveway. taly’s house had always been beautiful, Grey brick, white window trimming, with black Spanish tile covering the roof. A gorgeous garden splaying out from the front of the house to the end of the driveway, filled with fruit trees and flowers. He parked the car at the front steps and unbuckled his seatbelt. As he stepped out of the car, he was hit with pure sunlight. Its light and heat contrasted to America’s overcast weather that under any other circumstances, it would have distracted him. However, his focus was honed on the people in the back seat. 

As he rounded the front of the car with the intent of opening the back door, it was opened by Italy. Without casting a glance back, he walked up the steps and unlocked the door to his home.

Germany exchanged a concerned glance with Japan as he stepped out of the car. They knew that whenever Italy had guests over, he slipped into what seemed to be the ideal host. Courteous, considerate, always chatting up his guests about pleasant topics. For him to have left them behind in the car was extraordinarily out of character for him. 

“Does he want us to leave?” Japan asked. 

Germany considered this. Their cars were in Italy’s garage, so it was entirely possible that Italy expected them to just get their cars and drive home. As he was about to answer that he didn’t know, Italy opened the door to his house and stepped inside. He left it open. Germany hummed. “I don’t think so.” He looked over at his friend, a silent agreement passing between them before they joined Italy in his beautiful house. 

Germany shed his coat the moment he stepped over the door, shutting the door behind him. He looked around the room, about to step off the welcome mat to search for Italy when he noticed that Japan toed off his shoes. He did the same, following Japan through the entrance hall. 

Germany had always liked Italy’s house. It was cozier than his own, but less orderly. It was a spacious open floor plan, so it was easy to find him. As they left the entrance hall, the cream walls covered in fine paintings, the space opened into a living space that combined the kitchen, dining room, and living room. Germany’s concentrated frown loosened as he saw Italy sitting on the couch. 

He was hovering on the edge of the cushion, his shoulders bent as his elbows rested on his knees. His long, graceful fingers were folded together in his lap. That unruly curl on his head had loosened into a loose slump. It almost lay flat. Germany stepped forward, at a loss of what to do. “It-” 

Japan held up an open palm, his kind gaze seeming to pierce Germany. He padded forward, his black socks muffling his steps on the hardwood floor. Without a word, he sat next to Italy. After the slightest pause, he splayed his open hand between Italy’s shoulder blades and leaned forward slightly. “Italy,” he began, his voice barely audible. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” 

Italy nodded, staying quiet for a moment before his shoulders sunk even further. A shattered sob pierced through the air, giving way to horrid, tortured crying. He curled into himself, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. 

“Oh, Italy.” Japan said, pulling him into a rare hug. “Come with me.” They stood up, Italy appearing to almost lean on Japan entirely as Japan steered him around the couch. 

Germany stepped forward. “Let me-” 

“-I’ve got it.” Japan interrupted, not unkindly. “How about you make us something to eat, and I will get Italy ready for bed.” 

It was only around two in the afternoon. Germany knew this, but he also knew that didn’t matter. He heard Italy try to muffle his sobs and realized that whatever had taken place, it shook Italy to his very core. He needed rest. However, knowing that he could not help Italy directly was a hard pill to swallow, even if he didn’t know what he could do if Japan had allowed him to try. So, he did all he could do. He nodded. “Okay.” 

Japan gave him a nod of thanks as he led Italy out of the living room, and down the hallway to the bedrooms. 

Germany stood for a moment as Italy’s crying faded. He needed to collect his thoughts. Well, dinner. Something to eat. He could do that. He shed his suit jacket as he padded into the kitchen area. He had faith in his ability to navigate Italy’s kitchen, as it was about the only place in the entire house that was always completely organized. As he tried to find an apron, he noticed a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with a magnet in the shape of a slice of pizza. He pulled it out from underneath the magnet. Baked Eggplant Parmesan. It looked relatively simple. He set the recipe on the counter, continuing his search for an apron. After a few more minutes passed, he gave up his search in favor of just taking off his tie and unbuttoning the top button. Rolling up his sleeves, he sighed. 

He searched the kitchen for ingredients, not surprised at all to find an abundance of cheese in the fridge. If Italy had any weaknesses, it was cheese and pasta. How that man stayed so thin was a wonder to Germany. He did some more meal prep, his mind echoing the same thoughts and questions he had earlier in the car. He searched the depths of his mind for any more clues or memories that could help him piece together what happened earlier today. But he came up empty. 

“Germany.” A quiet voice said behind him. 

Germany jumped, unusually frightened by the sudden interruption. He peered over his shoulder. “Oh. Japan.” 

“Can I help?” Japan asked. Germany noticed that Japan looked unusually tired. 

“No but thank you.” 

“I was hoping you would say that.” Japan admitted with a slight smile, sitting on a barstool on the other side of the counter. 

There was a slight pause as Germany preheated the oven. “Is Italy okay?” 

Japan ran a hand through his hair and gave a slight sigh. “No, but he is in bed in his pajamas.” 

Germany didn’t really know what to say. “Oh.” 

“If you had seen him…” Japan continued, resting his arms on the counter. “When we got to his room, he stopped crying and he was numb again. He didn’t say a word. He needed me to help him get dressed, everything.” Japan’s cheeks colored slightly as he said this, but he was otherwise composed. “It is so unlike him.” 

Germany nodded in agreement as he searched for a spice cabinet. “Yes… not as unlike him as how he was at the meeting, though.” 

Japan stilled. He looked almost afraid as he waited for Germany to continue. “Yes.” 

“I have never seen him angry. I’ve never thought about it before, but I have only seen him frustrated at worst.” 

Japan nodded. “Yes.” 

“Why was he like that?” He asked, finally finding what he needed.

There was a pause. Germany was getting real sick of long, empty pauses. 

“It’s… not my place to tell you, I don’t think.” Japan finally answered. 

Germany set the spices on the counter and leaned against it, folding his hands out in front of him. “I… understand. It’s irritating, but I understand.” He stood up again, frustratedly brushing back his bangs away from his forehead. The hair kept falling over his eyebrows from the lack of gel and it was starting to bother him. “But there is still something I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you let me help Italy?” 

Japan raised an eyebrow in a silent question. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice.” 

Japan sighed through his nose, his eyes settling on the bottles of spices. “… I don’t think I can tell you that, either. But trust me when I say I wish I could, Germany. I know this is hard for you, especially given how you feel about Italy.” 

“I-”

“Please.” Japan interrupted. “It’s okay. I have known for a while. Since World War Two, right?” 

Germany could feel his cheeks and ears turn red. “This isn’t really… I mean…” 

Japan raised his eyebrow again. 

Germany sighed. “If I am truly honest, I wish I could help him. But I don’t know how. And it’s hard to know when people won’t tell me a damn thing.” Germany finished, aggravated at this moment of vulnerability. 

Japan raised a fist to his lips and leaned against it, thinking. “That’s remarkably honest of you, Germany. I know neither of us like talking about…” 

“… feelings,” Germany finished, muttering it like it was a curse word. 

“Yes, but I feel that we are close. I appreciate you confiding in me about this.” Japan said. 

Germany chose not to reply, rinsing off his hands in the sink. 

“The best way you can help Italy is to be with him.” Japan added. “Stay near him. Help him.” 

“Well how do I do that?” Germany asked, frustration darkening his tone once again. “Every time I try, I don’t know what to do!” 

Japan gazed up at him, his brown eyes boring into Germany’s icy blue ones. 

Germany was slightly uncomfortable with this, but he refused to look away. “What is it?” He asked finally. 

Japan blinked. “Sometimes I forget how young you really are. Not even a hundred and fifty years old…” 

Germany frowned, wondering how that was relevant. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Japan continued, picking up on Germany’s thoughts. “When I say, ‘stay near him’, just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day. But whatever you do, don’t ask him. This is something he must tell you when he is ready.” 

Germany nodded, silence ensuing as he dipped the slices of eggplant into scrambled egg. It was not uncomfortable, it was the type of silence where all the participants in conversation were in deep thought. The silence was shattered, however, as Germany’s phone started buzzing on the counter by the stove. Germany wiped his fingers off on a paper towel before crossing the kitchen. Picking up his phone, he glared at France’s name on the screen. Without a second thought, he dismissed the call. Whatever France did to hurt Italy, Germany was not interested in his explanations. Diplomatic as he was, he had no problem letting France know, either. He set his phone back on the counter, just turning to Japan to tell him when Japan’s phone rang. 

Japan withdrew it out of his back pocket. 

“France?” Germany asked. 

Japan glanced at the phone and nodded. He slid his finger across the screen, ignoring Germany’s pointed glare as he answered the call. “This is Japan,” he paused. “It is fine. It’s not like you knew he would react like he did. I trust the presentation went well…? Good.”

Germany determinedly ignored the tinny sound of France’s voice coming from the speaker as he turned back to the eggplant.

“He will be. It was quite a shock, but give it some time and he will be okay.” 

Germany glared at the phone. France killed someone close to Italy, then had the nerve to ask if he was okay? 

Japan’s brow furrowed slightly. “Of course he isn’t picking up the phone, you know what he just found out… yes, I understand… well it surprised me too, but how do you react to finding that out?” There was another moment of silence and Japan straightened. “Perhaps… I know. But I… okay, I will. Goodbye, France. I hope your nose heals soon.” He hung up the phone. 

“Well?” Germany asked tersely. 

“France wanted to know if Italy was okay. He apologized for interrupting the meeting, he was worried because Italy wasn’t picking up the phone… he was surprised at how Italy attacked him. His nose really hurt, he said.” 

Germany gave a satisfied hum. 

“And… he asked for updates on how Italy is doing.” 

Germany finished laying out the eggplant slices in a baking pan. “Well he won’t get them from me.” 

Japan nodded. “I expected so.” 

“Will you give them to him?” 

“Yes.” Seeing Germany’s look, he explained himself. “I know this is confusing, but this is much more complicated than you probably think it is. France… he has a side to the story too.” 

Germany grunted, pushing the baking pan into the oven. “It doesn’t excuse what he did.” 

Japan frowned, looking slightly aggravated. “How can you decide until you know the whole story?” 

“He knew Italy cared for him,” Germany answered as he put down the oven mitts. “And he killed him.” 

“Again, there is a full story you don’t know.” 

“He killed a child!” Germany grunted, keeping his voice low for Italy’s sake. 

“And how many have we killed, Germany?” Japan answered, his voice dreadfully calm, but deceivingly simple. Behind his eyes was a turmoil of emotion. “How many people have we killed for the sake of power?”

Germany froze, his heart stopping in his chest as he stared down at the kitchen tile. God, that thought tormented him constantly. How much blood was on his hands? Whether people from his country or from others, it was a guilt that settled itself on his shoulders constantly. “Don’t ask that.” He said, his reply barely audible.

“I wouldn’t say it if it were not true.” Japan said, looking like he dreaded the answer as much as Germany. “We both have killed so many people. I do not even want to think about how many children. But we have done the same as France. Are we bad people?” 

Germany thought for a moment. “No.” Even then he wasn’t sure. 

“Exactly. We made mistakes. There were some times when we could not help it. How do you know that France is any different?” 

Germany couldn’t think of anything to say. “This is why I don’t talk about feelings.” He grunted.

“I am sorry, Germany.” Japan said, truly looking it.

Germany couldn’t think of anything to say. Either way, he didn’t want to carry on this damn conversation. He was already so, so tired. 

“I have to make a call to my boss. I need to ask if I can stay for a while and help take care of Italy.” 

Germany nodded, picking up his phone and thanking whatever deity was up there for a change of subject. “I should probably do the same.” He selected his boss’ number and waited. A brief phone call later, and he got the permission he needed. The only requirement was that he keep up with his paperwork, and that he be there by next Monday. That gave Germany six days. However, Japan did not appear so lucky. 

“I can stay overnight. But I have to be home by tomorrow afternoon.” 

“You would have to leave first thing tomorrow morning.” Germany said. “To accommodate for the international road.” 

Japan nodded. “There is really not much I can do in that time.” 

“Perhaps. We’ll see how Italy is later tonight.” 

Japan nodded in agreement, though he still looked unsatisfied. 

Germany finished cooking, the two of them discussing how America presented Japan’s presentation according to France. Apparently he did well, but after the event during lunch no one seemed to be paying attention. “I have never understood America,” Germany said. “He seems to never work hard. And yet…” 

“He is incredibly powerful.” Japan finished. “It is the stuff he cares about that he works so hard on. It seems that as far as he is concerned, whatever he does not care about should be left alone, but present issues and things that interest him always get his full effort.” 

Germany nodded, finishing the salad. “Yes… sometimes I wonder how the two of you are friends. You’re both so different.” 

Japan shrugged. “I feel the same way sometimes. But you could say the same about the three of us, don’t you think?” 

_“Ja.”_ Germany offered, pulling the parmesan out of the oven and slicing it. “Help yourself to dinner, I will take Italy his.” His gaze landed on the wine rack in the corner before deciding that a glass of water would probably be a better option. 

Japan paused, considering Germany's proposition. “Good luck. Remember: be there for him, but don’t ask him about what happened.” 

Germany nodded, walking back to Italy’s room. It was the only door in the hallway that was shut all the way. In the days where the three of them would frequently sleep in the same house, it was an annoying habit of Italy’s that he would never shut the door all the way. Germany turned the knob and opened the door, finding that the lights were turned off. A window was left open, allowing moonlight to spill into the room. He quietly walked in, wondering if Italy was asleep. As he got closer, though, he noticed that Italy’s eyes were wide open. “Italy,” he said softly.   
Italy looked over at him. 

Germany was taken aback by his eyes. Whenever they were fully open, they were sparkling with happiness and a lust for life. But now they were empty and lackluster. Like windows clouded with dust. “I made you something to eat.” 

Italy looked past Germany’s waist at the wall behind him. “I’m not hungry.” 

Germany paused for a moment, wondering what to do. He remembered what Japan said: 'Just help him. Cook. Clean. Help him get dressed and get on with his day.' Making him eat counted as helping him get on with his day, right? “Italy, you have to eat something.” 

Italy didn’t move his head as his eyes found Germany’s again. He took a long, slow breath and turned on his back to sit up against the headboard. “My head is pounding.” He said, sounding as if he only just woke up. Given the tiredness of his expression, though, Germany suspected he hadn’t slept a wink since they got home. 

“I brought you a glass of water.” He offered, handing it to Italy. 

Without a word, Italy took a long drag out of the glass. 

“I also made that eggplant recipe that was on the fridge.” 

Italy looked over at the plate in Germany’s hands as if he only just realized it was there. “I was supposed to make that. I’m sorry.” His voice was flat. 

“It’s okay.” Germany said, offering him the plate. 

Italy took it, but he made no attempt to eat anything. 

“You have to eat that.” 

Italy looked back up at Germany before glancing away like the eye contact burned him. He offered no reply. 

“I am not leaving until you eat at least half of that.” 

Italy cut away a sheepish bite and ate it. 

“Good.” Germany said, not knowing what to do. He remembered how Italy leaned into Japan earlier and stretched his hand out to put on his shoulder. 

“Please, don’t.” Italy said, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears again. 

Germany blinked, taken aback. Italy had never refused physical contact before. 

“I’m sorry, but I just…” As if searching for something to do, he took another bite of the parmesan. 

“No, you’re okay.” So many more questions were floating around Germany’s head. But, remembering what Japan said, he asked nothing. He glanced down at the plate and saw that at least a fourth of the parmesan was gone. “I…” 

Italy shifted his weight. 

“Do you… do you need me to stay with you tonight? Here in your room?” Be there for Italy. That was what Japan had said. For whatever reason, Italy loved sharing a bed. That would help, right? “I was going to stay over at your house anyway, but-” 

“No, it’s okay.” Italy looked over for a moment and smiled, but the smile was stretched awkwardly over his teeth. It looked unnatural. Forced. “I’m sure a good night’s sleep will get me better in no time.” 

What do you say to that? What do you say to an outright lie? By sheer stroke of luck, a memory came to mind. He remembered when he was still a young country. Perhaps even in his first year of existence. He was physically around eight years old, but people were expecting so much of him. He had a boss that was piling work on top of him like he was an adult man instead of a child. And whenever he went to meetings with other countries, they looked at him as if they expected him to do something incredible for no good reason at all. To an eight-year-old boy, that was a lot of pressure to contend with. 

He remembered that one day he was just fed up with it. He remembered holeing himself up in his room and doing paperwork through a film of tears. He remembered Gilbert opening the door and coming in and sitting on his bed. He looked pretty stressed these days. He remembered that Gilbert asked what was wrong and that Germany had snapped at him that he was very focused, so could he please leave him alone. He remembered the words that started a flood of tears and got him to feel like maybe things would be okay after all. Prussia had leaned forward and said: “Look, Ludwig, I know you’re upset. I know you’re frustrated and scared, and you may want everything to be fine. But never act like it is already. I’m your older brother, and I care about you far too much to let you do that. Okay?” It was a rare moment of emotional honesty between the two. Their bond was forever changed from then on. From then on, it finally felt like Gilbert was Ludwig’s brother.

Germany sighed, looking down at the covers of the bed. “Italy, I know you’re mad. And confused. And very, very sad.” He paused and licked his lips. “You may… want everyone to think you’re okay. I know what it is to not want anyone to know how you feel. But don’t act like nothing is wrong. I’m your friend, and I… I care far too much for you to shut yourself in.” He looked back up at Italy, desperately hoping to get through to him. “Do you understand?” 

Italy looked at him, and he didn’t turn away. His eyes were swimming with tears. “I- yes. I do.” He cleared his throat. “I know you’re confused too. I’ve never really told you about this. But… it’s very, very complicated.” Italy looked at Germany with a perplexed expression that slightly unnerved him. “I… I promise I’ll tell you later. When we’re ready.” 

Germany frowned. When _we’re_ ready?

“But… it will take me a little bit.” Italy looked away again, pushing his plate in front of his crossed legs and letting his hands curl in his lap. “You have to understand… I found out that someone I think of as family killed someone I loved… I have no idea how to feel about that.” 

Germany nodded. He knew that was probably extremely difficult to work through. However, he still felt confused. That explained nothing about how Italy was acting toward him. 

“And I slammed him against the wall. And I punched him. And said horrible, awful things.” Italy said, his frown deepening. “And I’m not even sorry. It’s just… too much.” 

There was another moment of silence as the two tried to think of something, anything they could say. “Japan is staying overnight.” Germany offered. “He has to leave first thing in the morning, but… if you will have me, I have permission to stay here until Monday.” 

Italy nodded, still looking down at his lap. “That’s very kind. You two are good friends. But I think I need to be alone for a little bit. Thank you for the dinner.” 

Germany felt a pang, realizing this was a dismissal. He stood. As he leaned forward to grab the plate from in front of Italy, he felt the strongest and strangest urge to kiss the top of his head and tell him that everything would be okay. He chided himself as he turned away. Italy was still upset about his first love’s death, and here he was having these thoughts… as he went through the doorway, he stopped and turned around. “Goodnight, Italy. Sleep well.” 

But Italy was already laying down, and he had pulled his covers underneath his chin. Whether he was asleep or awake, he didn’t respond. Germany reluctantly turned away and shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Ja - Yes (German)
> 
> .


	3. Prussia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Italy leaves to confront France about what happened, Germany returns to his home to pack for a week-long stay at Italy's house. While there, Prussia gives him some... brotherly advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, all! I wanted to thank you guys for the overwhelming support I've gotten. For a first fic, this is incredible encouragement. I hope you all decide to stick around and enjoy the rest of it!
> 
> Also, everything here in Italics is said in German. I figure that Germany and Prussia would speak in German to each other, but I didn't want you guys to scroll all the way down to the bottom for entire translations because that hecking annoying.

The evening before, Germany had offered Japan the guest bedroom so he could have a good night’s rest before the next day’s travels. As a result, Germany was camped out on the couch. He set an alarm on his phone for 6:30 the next morning. He would have normally gotten up an hour before for his morning jog, but he had not packed for an overnight stay. Before he had gone to bed, he stripped off his button-down shirt for the wide-strapped white undershirt he had worn underneath it. He had a rough night’s sleep, but he got up without complaint and started rummaging around the kitchen. 

He filled a glass with water and swished it around his mouth in a vain attempt to get rid of the morning taste in his mouth. The water took care of some of it, but he reached in his pocket and pulled out his pack of spearmint gum to pop a strip in his mouth. He started a pot of coffee and got out some eggs, deciding to make a nice, healthy breakfast for the day. He ignored the crick in his neck as he started chopping vegetables and mixing eggs. He heard quiet footsteps behind him. 

_“Guten Morgen,_ Japan. You won’t be scaring me this morning, I’m afraid. I’m making eggs with sautéed vegetables this morning, unless you would like something different.” 

“That sounds delicious, actually.” Italy’s voice said.  
Germany turned around, his eyes wide with surprise. Indeed, it was Italy standing behind him. He was wearing a button-down shirt, and he had slung a pair of skinny jeans over his arm as he was buttoning said shirt. His hair was tousled and he had grey shadows under each of his eyes. Regardless, he looked much better in comparison to how he looked the night before. “Italy.” Germany said. 

“Germany.” Italy returned with a hint of a smile. He pulled on the skinny jeans, apparently in no hurry. 

“I didn’t expect you to be out of bed so soon.” 

Italy hummed in agreement, straightening. “Neither did I.” His voice sounded slightly gravelly from sleep – or lack of it. Germany was still unsure. “But I have plans today.” His voice didn’t have the bounce Germany had grown accustomed to. 

Germany’s eyebrows were raised up high. He raked his eyes up and down Italy’s form, quite taken aback by how good he looked in those skinny jeans. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping that it would somehow stay back. “So soon?”

Italy nodded, brushing past Germany to get to the coffee pot. He reached up to the cupboards to grab a coffee mug, filling it to the brim. “Yes. I’m going to visit France.” 

“France?” Germany asked, suddenly angry. “Why him?” 

Italy took a sip of coffee and sat at the barstool across from him. “He was going to give his side of the story yesterday, but I never gave him a chance. I owe it to him, I think. The sooner I hear it the better.” 

Germany leaned forward on the counter, resting his weight on his forearms. He looked at Italy, and Italy looked back at him. He failed to understand how Italy could be giving France a chance to be forgiven so quickly. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you.” 

Italy nodded. “You’re not the first person to have told me that.” 

“Do you want me to come with you? Japan has to go home this morning, but I can come along if you want.” 

Italy took another sip, humming with satisfaction. “No, I can go on my own. But I would like you to stay for a little while longer, if you can.” 

Germany nodded. It was the answer he was hoping for. “Of course. I already have permission, I’ll just need to get some clothes from my house.” 

“You slept in your clothes last night?” Italy asked. 

Germany frowned. “What do you think? I’m wearing my clothes right now.” 

Italy gave a sheepish smile. “Right. Sorry."

Germany’s frown softened as he was filled with regret. Why couldn’t he control his damned temper? “It’s fine. I snapped.” 

Germany heard a yawn behind them. _“Guten morgen,_ Japan.”

Japan offered a hum as he shuffled past Germany, clad in his pants from yesterday and his open button-down shirt over a white tank top. He shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug, standing and facing the wall as he took a few sips. 

Germany looked over to Italy and they shared a small, if not tentative smile. They were well-accustomed to the fact that Japan had a very difficult time waking up without coffee, often not noticing things until he was through at least half a cup. 

Japan continued his shuffle over to the bar stools, stopping as he noticed Italy sitting there. “Italy. Good morning.” He said, as if it were just another normal day. 

“Good morning, Japan.” Italy returned with a close-mouthed smile. 

Japan sat and took another sip. Germany had just finished chopping up the vegetables when Japan looked back over to Italy as he began to remember what happened the day before. “Italy, how are you feeling?” He asked. 

Italy smiled once again at his friend. “Much better. Thank you, Japan. Thank you both for helping me yesterday.” 

“It was our pleasure.” Japan answered. 

Germany nodded. 

“I didn’t expect you to be up this early, Italy.” 

Italy nodded. “I have plans to go over to France’s after breakfast.” 

“Hm.” Japan hummed. He took another sip of coffee. “That is probably a good idea.” 

The three enjoyed breakfast together, discussing Japan’s travels and what was likely to be expected of him whenever he got home. 

“I imagine my boss will want to know what kept me from going home yesterday.” 

“Are you going to tell him?” Italy asked nervously. 

Japan shook his head. “No. There is no reason to cause tension between everyone. I will just say the truth: I wanted to see my friends.” 

“Aww, that’s sweet, Japan!” Italy cooed. 

Germany allowed a small smile at two nations. Despite Italy’s semi-normal attitude, there was no denying he was tired. It was obvious that he was still stressed. He was glad he could still stick around with Italy, even if it was just to keep him a little bit of company. 

As breakfast finished and Japan downed the dregs of his second cup of coffee, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “I have to get going. He stood up and bowed to Italy. “I want to thank you for your hospitality, Italy.” 

Used to his formality, Italy gave him a close-mouthed smile and bowed his head. “You should really be thanking Germany for it. I really didn’t do much,” 

“It was nothing.” Germany said. 

“Actually, it was quite delicious!” Italy said as Japan left to grab his things. “I’m impressed you figured out the coffee machine! Even if you made the coffee wrong.” 

“I must admit, Italy, I never took you to be a coffee snob. Grinding your own beans every morning?” Germany said with a hint of a smile. 

Italy shrugged. “What can I say? I have an expensive taste.” He took another sip of his coffee as Japan returned with his jacket. “You ready to go?” 

Japan nodded, shrugging on his jacket. “Unfortunately. My car is still in the garage, I think.” 

“Should be,” Italy confirmed. “You know the way there and how to open the garage door?” 

“Yes. Again, thank you two for the bed and food. I’ll call soon, Italy.” Japan offered, resting a hand on Italy’s shoulder as he walked away. 

“I’ll hold you to that, Japan!” Italy called back before the door shut. 

Germany looked over at Italy, his heart feeling lighter as Italy’s gleaming amber eyes met his. The two were looking at each other for a moment. Germany’s face was expressionless, and yet his heart quite full. 

“You okay, Germany?” Italy asked. 

Germany looked away, dismayed to feel his cheeks heating up. “Fine. It’s just good to see you feeling better.” 

Italy looked down into his coffee, almost as if he were willing it to refill itself. “I’m feeling a little better. I mean… it’s not like I’m getting over his death for the first time. I think that the shock of finding out France did it kind of opened that wound for a moment.” 

“Will you be okay?” Germany asked, hoping that this was all just temporary. More than anything, he wanted Italy to be fully and completely happy again. 

Italy looked back up to Germany. “It’s as I said yesterday. It’s complicated, but… the complications in this case make it a little easier. I suppose. I’ll be okay, though. I promise. Especially after I talk to France.” 

Germany nodded. “Good. When do you plan on leaving?” 

Italy hummed. “After I finish my coffee.” 

“I can use my key to get back in here after I bring my stuff.” 

“Great! Do you want me to drive you home on my way to France’s?”

Germany blanched. “Why on earth would I-?” He stopped as he noticed Italy’s expression of mirth. “Oh, you’re joking.” 

Italy laughed into his cup as he lifted it to his lips. “Yes, I am. I know my driving is a little too fast for you.” 

“Well, yes.” Germany said. 

“After all, it’s not my fault that you’re too boring to enjoy it,” Italy added with a grin. 

“Boring?” The corners of Germany’s mouth lifted at Italy’s remark. “I’m not boring.” 

“You iron your socks!” Italy laughed. 

Germany smiled at the sound, relieved. “I see no reason why socks should be wrinkled.” 

Italy put down his mug and shifted forward in his seat. “Okay, maybe, but then you roll them into little… snail shells before you put them away and they get wrinkled all over again! There’s no point in ironing them!” 

“You mean spirals?” Germany corrected. 

“Don’t change the subject!” 

Germany chuckled. 

“Am I wrong? Don’t they wrinkle?” 

Germany leaned on the table, shaking his head. “Now that I think on it, I suppose they do.”

“Exactly! Do you know what you should do?” 

Germany smoothed his hair back, wondering what his disorganized friend had to tell him. “What should I do?” He asked with a smile. 

“You need to- hold on.” He bent down under the edge of the table. 

“What are you-?” 

Italy sat back up, holding a sock patterned with avocados. “Here, let me show you.” He placed it on the table. 

“Is that a sock you were wearing?” Germany asked. 

“I didn’t wear it long,” Italy batted his hand. 

“Don’t put it on the table! It’s disgusting.” Germany slid his coffee mug away from the pair of socks. 

“You fold them like this.” Italy said, ignoring Germany’s last remark. He folded the end with the toes halfway up the sock before he pulled the end with the foot hole to meet the toes halfway. “Then you fold them up like a book.” He concluded, doing so. “Then you can stack them a few pairs high, and there are no wrinkles!” 

Germany raised his eyebrows. “I will admit, I didn’t expect you to say something that actually made sense.” 

Italy pulled his socks off the table. “Well, us Italians take fashion very seriously.” 

“With avocado socks.” 

“Oh, yes. Can’t afford for your avocado socks to get wrinkled.” 

“Now who’s boring?” Germany asked with a smile. 

Italy laughed, taking a final sip of his coffee. “I really have to get going.” 

Germany nodded, disappointed that the lighthearted moment had passed. “Okay. Good luck,” 

“Thanks.” He stood and pulled his ring of keys out of the key bowl on the counter. “Thanks for breakfast, Germany! Don’t let the coffee go to waste!” 

“What coffee? You drank it all.” Germany answered as Italy went out the hallway. He heard Italy’s faint laugh trail behind him before he closed the door and left the house quiet.  
Germany let out a content sigh, draining the last of his cup of coffee. He looked around the kitchen, noticing he still had to clean.

By the time he finished and got in the car, he didn’t feel like going through all the trouble of buttoning up his shirt and tying his tie for a five-minute drive to his place. He enjoyed the Italian sunshine as he drove his car out, rolling down the windows. It was autumn, so by the time he was back in Germany it would be chilly again. As he turned the radio on, he pondered that it would be nice to take a couple days’ vacation. He hadn’t spent more than a weekend there since the late 70’s, and even then he just stayed at Italy’s house. Not that it was a bad thing, he just enjoyed the architecture and culture of the country and scarcely had the opportunity to explore it. 

Perhaps he could visit Rome again. Maybe Italy would come with him. It would be a good time. They could get some pasta, check out a few botanical gardens… his musings were interrupted as the air turned chilly, prompting him to roll up the windows. He saw his house in the distance. Unlike Italy’s house, it had been updated quite a bit with the modern times. He suspected that the reason Italy’s house was still rather old-fashioned was because of the older culture and landmarks of the past that still remained. Germany’s house featured a glass front with smooth grey sides and black slate roof that banked to the house’s left side. It had a modern looking garden, with perfectly cubed and rectangular hedges. There were no flowers or fruits in his garden. He got out of his car and walked up to his door past the brown shrubs, wondering if he could get a couple flowering bushes. He stopped at the door and unlocked it, musing that Italy must have been rubbing off on him more than he initially suspected. 

He opened the door, shutting it behind him. _“Blackie, Berlitz, Aster! I’m home!!”_ He shouted in German, delighted as he heard the barks from his three beloved dogs, their toenails scratching on the dark hardwood floor as they bolted toward him. _“Did you miss me?”_ He asked, kneeling and petting them all in turn. They weaved around his legs and torso, almost nudging him over as he vied for his attention. _“I missed you three. It’s good to see you.”_

_“Wow, Ludwig, greeting the dogs before saying ‘hello’ to your own brother?”_

Germany looked up as Prussia rounded the corner. Though he had his usual smirk, there was an air of anxiousness. A silent question if all was well. 

_“Hello, Gilbert.”_ He stood and offered out a hand to shake.

Prussia gripped it and pulled his younger brother into a hug. Germany returned it after a slight pause, not realizing how much he needed it until then. 

_“How’s Italy doing?”_ Prussia asked. 

Germany pulled away. _“Better. Last night he was…”_

_“Heartbroken?”_ Prussia offered.

Germany nodded. There weren’t many other ways to describe it. _“Today he’s going to see France. Talk things out.”_ He made his way back to his room.

_“I know.”_ Prussia followed him, his chicken slippers sliding on the wood of the floor. _“He called me earlier and told me. It was a pain in the ass to be woken up by a phone call at 6 in the morning, but whatever.”_

Germany grunted, pulling his suitcase out of the closet. 

_“Going somewhere?”_

_“I’m staying at Italy’s house for a few days. Helping him out.”_

Gilbert’s eyebrows floated up to his hairline. _“Boss let you?”_

_“For whatever reason, yes.”_ Germany answered. _“I have to get my paperwork done there, but I was allowed.”_

_“On vacation?”_

Germany shrugged as he pulled out several shirts. He went through them, choosing the ones he knew he looked best in. He wasn’t doing it for Italy, of course, he was doing it to make a good impression on the people of his country… obviously. _“We’re nations. Vacation is never truly vacation.”_

_“Ooh, you’re packing your best shirts.”_

_“No,”_ Germany turned away as he felt his ears and cheeks heat up.

_“Yeah, you are!”_ Prussia strode forward and pointed to each of them in turn. _“These three make your biceps stand out, this one makes your skin look tan, and France once told you that this one looked hot on you. At first I was like: ‘gross, France, that’s my brother’, but I mean a compliment is a compliment. Especially from France.”_

Germany’s neck was growing hot at this point. Prussia had hit a bulls-eye on every guess. _"Yes, well… I’m trying to make a good impression on the Italians. For whatever reason, whenever I go there they seem scared of me.”_ This was perfectly true, in his defense. Not exactly a lie. 

Prussia sat on his bed, studying him for a moment with a mischievous smile. _“Mm-hmm… don’t worry about the paperwork. I’ll call the boss, tell him that the better brother is taking care of it.”_

Germany looked up from the shirts at Prussia. _“What?”_

Prussia shrugged. _“How could I call myself an awesome brother if I didn’t take your work from you? After all, you can’t pursue Italy’s sweet ass while trying to do all that boring shit.”_

Germany’s blush returned full force. _“What do you mean?!”_ He asked, his voice far too loud from embarrassment. 

_“West, I need you to listen to me.”_ Prussia put his hands on Germany’s shoulders. _“The only person who can’t see you have a giant crush on Italy is Italy himself. Everyone else knows.”_

_“What…?”_ Germany’s voice was remarkably quiet.  


Prussia stepped away toward the dresser. _“Yes, everyone knows! America and France have started a betting pool. And I owe Spain 50 euros if you don’t get laid in the next three months, so you better hop to it and get your awesome brother some cash!”_ He pulled out a pair of jeans that Germany seldom wore. _“And make sure to wear these, they make your ass look good.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prussia's hella hard to write. Any advice from you guys would be stellar.


	4. The Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Germany returns back to Italy's house after his visit home, he receives an unexpected visitor and a difficult conversation.
> 
> In other words, Romano is finally here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only basic Italian is used in this chapter, so italics in this chapter just means that emphasis is being put in certain words.

Germany drove back to Italy, excitement filling him from head to toe. He had chased Prussia out of his room, Prussia cackling as he left. Germany was grateful for his brother. But dropping that bomb on him was a bit much before he was to be hanging out with Italy for the next several days. Just the two of them. Alone. Germany let the windows down, enjoying the warm breeze. He gelled his hair down before he came, glad to finally have it out of his face. He made sure to pack it and checked his bags several times before he finally left an hour after he arrived at his house. 

He parked at Italy’s house, opening the door and pulling out his luggage. He took the opportunity to shut his eyes and face the sunlight for a moment, taking a deep breath of warm, fragrant air. He opened his eyes with a close-mouthed smile before he took a slow walk up the door and admired Italy’s garden. It truly was lovely. The sun baking the fruit in the garden let loose a myriad of fragrance that enchanted the senses. He unlocked the door and stepped in, wondering if Italy was home. He knew it was too much to hope for. He was likely in the middle of a very difficult conversation. Ludwig toed off his shoes and remembered why he was here. It was not just a vacation, it was to make sure Italy was okay. 

He wheeled the luggage back to his room, wondering how he could make Italy’s return welcome. He remembered that Italy enjoyed that apple cake that Germany made sometimes, and resolved to make one for him to enjoy when he came home. He pulled his apron out of his suitcase and tied it as he paced back to the kitchen. He rummaged around the kitchen for the ingredients, measuring them out in advance. A couple of countries close to him would admit that he has mellowed out in recent years (no recent wars will do that to a nation), but he was still as orderly as he was during the wars, and he still ran a tight ship. It was just fact that measuring out your ingredients before you started made for an easier and more pleasurable baking experience. 

An hour and a half later, Germany was cleaning the kitchen. The air smelled of warm, delicious apple cake. It sat on a cooling rack by the stove, and the batter pans were soaking in warm, soapy water. All there was left to do was wipe down the counters, then apply a thick dusting of powdered sugar to the top of the cake. He finished with the powdered sugar and was just admiring his handiwork as he heard the doorbell ring. His mind immediately flashed to Italy, but then decided that he could just open the door himself. He concluded that it was the mail and considered making a pot of coffee to enjoy when Italy came back. He heard the doorbell ring again and frowned. Perhaps it was a fellow country coming to check on Italy? Or maybe Prussia was bringing something Germany forgot about. Germany was halfway to the door when the doorbell rang four times, as if someone were pressing into quickly and furiously. 

Germany opened the door and saw Romano standing on the step, his concerned expression souring into one of disdain. “Oh. Potato Bastard. Where’s my idiot brother?” 

Germany stepped to the side, allowing Romano in. “Visiting France.” 

“Ugh.” Romano untied his shoes, leaving them on the welcome mat as he looked up at Germany. “That blue-eyed, bad-breathed, bimbo bitch from hell.”

Germany raised his eyebrows at the creative insult. “I suppose…” 

“Something smells good.” Romano migrated to the kitchen, his feet slapping against the floor. 

“I made apple cake.” Germany explained, joining him in the kitchen as he untied his apron. 

Romano hummed skeptically. _“You_ made _that?”_

“Yes…” 

“There’s no way. Looks too good.” 

Germany hummed back, wondering if that was Romano’s version of a compliment. 

“Well? Are you going to get me a slice?” 

“If you want one,” 

Romano scoffed. “I wouldn’t be asking for one if I didn’t want one. _Mio Dio._ I knew you were blonde, but I didn’t expect it to actually affect your brain.” 

Germany hummed again, not really knowing what to say. 

Romano strode over to the coffee pot, grunting at the coffee beans. “God, who grinds their own coffee?” 

Germany found a cake slicer. “Your brother and I were talking about that earlier. I don’t understand why he enjoys his coffee that way.” 

“Me neither.” Romano got out the bean grinder. “Bean water is bean water either way.” 

Germany let out a small smile at that as he plated a slice of the cake and put it on the counter with a fork. 

He cut one for himself, figuring that it would be strange if he didn’t eat a slice with Romano. 

“How is my brother, anyhow?” Romano asked, his voice slightly less aggressive. The bean grinder whirred, and Romano poured the grounds into a coffee filter. “Spain told me what happened yesterday. Did he really beat up the wino?” 

Germany nodded, pulling down two coffee mugs. “He’s okay. Last night he acted… withdrawn. But he seemed a little more cheerful today. He was excited that I was spending a bit of time here.”  
“How long?” Romano asked, pouring two mugs of coffee. 

“Six days.” 

Romano nodded, taking a seat at the table. 

Germany joined him, worrying about an awkward conversation. 

Romano took a bite out of the cake, chewing it thoughtfully. “Hmm.” 

Germany waited for his thoughts, not sure why he was so intrigued by Italy’s brother. Though they had their disagreements before, he wondered if they perhaps had more in common than he initially thought.

“What do you know?” Romano swallowed. “The Kraut can make something other than wurst.” He sounded almost resentful. Like he was looking for something to be mad about. 

“Thank you.” 

“I never said it was a compliment.” 

“Of course not.” Germany replied, taking a bite of the cake. Good as always. 

There was a long silence as the two ate their cake. 

“So what, you’re not going to ask me what it was all about?” Romano asked skeptically. 

Germany shook his head, taking a sip out of his coffee. “No. Italy told me he would tell me when we were both ready, whatever that means.” 

Romano appraised him with what looked like an approving eye. “Hmm. What did you do with him last night? To help him?” 

“Japan took care of him mostly. For whatever reason, he didn’t want me interacting with Italy that much. But I made him something to eat and drink and made him eat a little until he told me to leave him alone.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Listen, shit-stain.” Romano pushed away his plate. “I came into this house with the intention to hate you more than I already did. And, surprisingly, I only dislike you.” 

“… thank you?”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. Here’s all I have to say: You’re shit at being subtle about how you feel about my brother.” 

Germany felt his face heat up. He absently considered the absurd amount of blushing he had been doing these past couple days.

“And I guess I don’t hate it. You can cook, and you want to take good care of him. I can tell. You help him be more orderly, and he helps dislodge that giant stick up your ass. But the next few days are going to be harder than you think. It won’t all be sunshine and all-night fucks if that’s what your perverted mind has been thinking.” 

“I haven’t-!”

“Let me finish.” Romano interrupted. “It’s going to be hard. But if you’re willing to take care of him, you need to know a couple things… well? Aren’t you going to get something to write it down?”

“I can remember it,” 

“You literally asked me if I wanted cake after I asked for it. I don’t trust your brain as far as I could throw it. Which would be pretty damned far, considering how small it is.” 

Sighing through his nose, Germany stood up and wandered back to Italy’s office area. He opened the door and swiped a pad of paper from a cluttered desk. As he walked back, he flipped through various pages of drawings until he found a blank page. He grabbed a pen from the jar of writing utensils that sat on the counter and sat back down at the table. He noticed that while he was gone, Romano had swiped the rest of his slice of cake. He chose not to comment. “Ready.” 

“Okay. His favorite gelato place is Amalo Gelato E Passione. Be prepared to spend at least twenty minutes there, because he can’t choose just one flavor for shit.” 

Germany wrote this down, surprised at how specific these instructions were. Despite what outward behavior might have suggested, it appeared that Romano really truly cared for Italy. 

“If you’re going to the beach, do it on Tuesday. Damned tourists will always be in the way, but it’ll be least crowded then. His favorite is Bagni 77. It’s open for a few more weeks, so you have plenty of time. Expect to stay there for several hours. It’s relaxing during the day, but at night it’s a party beach. Veneziano loves to party, so expect to stay whether you like it or not. God knows that’s what I did. He holds his alcohol almost as well as you do, though, so look out for him.” 

Germany nodded and made a note about watching him. 

“You have to visit Rome. No question. Expect him to bring his damn sketchbook and bring a book or something. He’ll want to draw everything… Let’s see… that’s about all I can think of. The rest of the time he’ll be willing to just meander and sightsee, probably. Maybe do a bit of shopping. You really want to make my brother’s day? Buy him a flower. And make sure it’s a lily. That’s our national flower, and he likes it when you remember stupid shit like that. Got it all?” 

“Ja. I think so.” 

“Let me see your notes,” he slid the notebook toward himself, appraising them. “Hmm… okay.” He took one last long drag out of his coffee. “I should probably be going. Spain wanted me home by lunch.” He stood up, and Germany stood up with him. “You walking me to the door, starch head?” 

“If- yes. I am.” 

Romano hummed. “So you were paying attention.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and led Germany toward the hallway. He stopped at the door and tied his shoes back on, standing to his full height. Germany noticed that Romano was about five centimeters shorter than Italy. He stuck out a hand. “You impressed me today, Potato bastard. Take good care of _mio fratello._ ” 

Germany nodded. “I will. Thank you for stopping by, South Italy.” 

Romano raised his hand as a goodbye before he slammed the door behind him. 

Germany walked back to the table, clearing the dishes away. He considered what had just transpired. Unexpectedly, Germany had come to like Romano. Maybe it was the grudging respect they had for each other, maybe it was that he figured out just how much Romano cared for his brother. Either way, it went better than he had expected. This day was shaping up well indeed. He considered what he would do when Italy returned home. 

Perhaps they would relax at home, then he would introduce the idea of going to Rome tomorrow. Then perhaps they could take a day at the house, then they could go for a day of shopping and sightseeing. They would meander one day, then take a break at the house the next. He was happy to have it all figured out. As he loaded the dish washer and scrubbed the pans, he considered what he could do next. He figured he would officially start his vacation when Italy returned home. Until then, perhaps he could straighten things up around here… there wasn’t much to do, though. The only fault was that perhaps Italy’s house was overcrowded with décor. Everything was kept clean and orderly. Germany knew that Italy had great pride in his art and house, and he spent a good deal of time making sure everything was clean. It was not organized, but it was clean. So, he settled for organizing all of Italy’s DVD’s alphabetically. This was more from a lack of something to do than anything else. 

He heard the door open and heard shoes on the floor. “Germany?” Italy’s voice called. 

Germany got up off the floor. “Hello, Italy.” He stood and looked over to the older nation. He looked tired but satisfied. “How did it go?” 

“It went well… I understood what he said. He really had no choice. I forgave him, and he forgave me for breaking his nose.” 

“You broke his nose?” Germany asked, surprised. 

Italy nodded, his brow furrowed. “I feel really bad for it now.” 

“Well what matters is that all is forgiven.” Germany said dismissfully, hoping to distract Italy from his worries. “I made some apple cake.” 

Italy brightened immediately. “Really?” 

Germany nodded. “Want a slice?” 

“Of course! I love it!” He followed Germany in the kitchen. Germany was relieved to see that Italy was feeling better. “Why is some missing?” he asked. 

“South Italy stopped by earlier and took a slice… and half of mine.” Germany answered. 

“Really?” Italy sounded surprised. “Why was he here?” 

“He wanted to check on you, but you weren’t here.” 

Italy hummed, taking the slice of cake Germany gave him. “I wouldn’t have expected him to stay when he found out I wasn’t here… how did that go?’ 

“Awkward at first, but he didn’t hit me.” 

Italy giggled around a bite of cake. “That’s good,” 

“He said he didn’t hate me, he just didn’t like me.” 

Italy hummed, swallowing his cake. “High praise.” 

Germany smiled, pouring Italy a cup of coffee. “I suppose so.” 

The two were silent for a moment, Italy enjoying his dessert. 

Germany noticed that Italy’s shoulders were tense. His eyes were firmly planted on his cake. Different from his usual habit of locking them with Germany’s as they made light and easy conversation. Italy almost seemed… nervous. “Is something wrong?” 

“Hmm?” Italy looked up, still looking fearful. “Um… do you remember how I said I would tell you what was wrong when you were ready?” 

Germany’s heart raced. “Yes.” 

“Do you think you’re ready?” 

Germany paused. “Well how can I know if I don’t know what you’re going to say?” He sounded slightly aggravated. Could people stop being so cryptic and just explain what was going on?  
Italy went silent. Germany was just about to apologize when Italy spoke again. 

“Let’s take a seat on the couch.” 

Italy led the way, his back ramrod straight. Germany followed, wishing he could soothe Italy in some way. But his curiosity outweighed his ability to dismiss what he was going to be told. He sat, on the opposite end of the couch from Italy. 

Italy took a bite of cake. “Germany, how much have I told you about my childhood?” 

Germany looked down at the couch cushion as he thought. He barely knew anything, and what he knew was just from passing mentions. The two had never really sat down and talked about it. “I know you grew up with Austria and Hungary for a while. You and Romano were separated and he lived with Spain. Nothing else comes to mind.” 

Italy nodded. “That’s all right, I’ll tell you. When I was very, very young, I lived with my brother, and France, and this little boy named Holy Rome. He kept wanting me to join his empire, but I always said no.” 

Germany was surprised. They were getting into Holy Rome territory already? He thought he would be later in the story. 

“One day, my grandfather Grandpa Rome wanted me to live with him. I did, and I loved him, but I missed my friends so much. I watched Grandpa Rome conquer and defeat and grow more powerful. He was truly an amazing man.” His voice was muted with sadness. “You were looking for him, you know. When you found me.” 

“I remember.” Better than that, Germany met Rome’s ghost once… or he thought so. It could have been an extremely vivid dream. 

“But anyway, as he grew and conquered, he became so powerful that he would come home with these huge scars and scrapes. And I would heal them.” Italy looked down at his hands. “I wasn’t even six physically, Germany. I remember how small my hands looked on those bloodied scars. I remember how he would put on a brave face and hide his grunts of pain while I tried to figure out how to apply bandages. It took me a while, but with how many injuries he got I can still do first aid really well.” 

Germany tried to imagine a tiny Italy healing giant bloodied scars. It was a sickening thought. He pushed it away quickly as it came. 

“Eventually, as you know, Rome fell. He just… died. I was left to find somewhere else to live. I went back to my family and tried to live with them, but… they all were so mean… even Romano. They all fought to get pieces of my land for themselves. And Holy Rome? He was one of the worst. Eventually I lived under Austria as a servant. I was still a young child, Germany. I couldn’t paint, I couldn’t play like a normal child… all I did was clean.” 

Germany was frowning at this point. He hadn’t realized how rough Italy’s childhood was. 

Italy had a small smile. “I make it sound like it was so bad… Miss Hungary was my best friend at the time. She took care of me. She would dress me in her old dresses, but I didn’t really mind. Even now we’re close. She’s still family. But as the days passed, Austria still kept me as his servant…” He appeared to have noticed Germany’s angry expression. “I’m not upset at him, Germany, he apologized so many times that I couldn’t help but forgive him! He really feels bad for what happened, and now we get along pretty well.” 

Germany grunted, not entirely satisfied. But he stayed quiet to hear more of the story. 

“But days went on, and I continued to clean. I ate the terrible food I was given. I was so bored… one day I found an old brush and a can of ink. I painted a big old bushy moustache on a portrait of Austria.” Italy cracked a reminiscent smile at this. “Austria locked me up for a day with no meals. Or that’s what he said he would do. But someone slid a plate of food through the door. I would look up and there would be these piercing blue eyes looking at me through a mail slot. I knew they were Holy Rome’s, but I was still terrified. As time went on, I recognized Holy Rome’s acts of kindness more. We spent more time together. At one point, I tried to teach him how to paint a rabbit. He said it was awful, but it was kind of cute in an ugly way. Eventually, there was political unrest and France’s boss at the time, Napoleon, was planning on conquering the world. Just like Grandpa Rome did. Just like Holy Rome wanted.

“One day he came and asked me to join his empire. He wanted to unify. He said we could become the most powerful empire in the world. I said no, of course. After I watched Grandpa Rome in all that pain just for him to die… there was no way I could. But he went to the war anyway. But just before he left, I gave him all I had – a little push broom – to remember me by. He said he felt bad that he had nothing to get me and asked what people did where I’m from to show affection. I answered that they kissed. And so we did.” Italy took a shaky breath and looked away, down at his hands in his lap. “And he left. He promised he would come back to me. I… I promised to make him some desserts and snacks for him to enjoy when he came back.” He smiled regretfully. “The foolish musings of a kid, I guess.

“We traded letters. We only got a few to each other before I stopped receiving responses… I think a part of me knew. Just the tiniest part. But I ignored it. I hoped more than anything in the world that he would come back. But… he never did. It was about thirty years later. I was older then, biologically… maybe sixteen or seventeen… and France came and told me that Holy Rome had died. He told me to forget about him… of course, he never mentioned that it was he who had killed him. He had always treated me so kindly after that. Like an older brother.” He looked back up at Germany. 

Germany had no idea what he was supposed to say. He knew this happened ages ago. He heard Italy say that he had gotten over it. But hearing the details made it so much more real. So much more present. No wonder Italy was still emotional about it. “Italy…” 

Italy shrugged. “France explained to me what happened, though. Holy Rome was already so weak… that was Holy Rome, though. Holding out to the very end. He was going to die soon anyway. Napoleon told him that Holy Rome had to go either way. Either France could kill him now and spare the lives of many of his people, or he could let it drag on and lose even more. So, he did what any good nation would do on behalf of his people. He killed him.” He said this matter-of-factly. If it weren’t for the tears in Italy’s eyes, Germany would have thought he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. Italy took a shaky breath. “Nobody ever told me because they were worried I was too weak to handle it. Or they worried it would break me. I suppose they were right, weren’t they?” 

“Italy… that’s not true. You clearly are not too weak, and you clearly are not broken.” 

“I’m not done with my story yet, though. Can you believe it? There’s already so, so much more.” Italy said, looking at him. “Germany… what comes next will be scary. It will be confusing, and long, and… I’m not exaggerating when I say that it will change everything. Are you ready for that?” 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could anyone be ready for that? Against his better judgement, Germany nodded. 

Italy sighed. “Around 60 years later, there were rumors about a new country. I was vaguely aware of it, but I didn’t really pay attention. I was still trying to get over what had happened with Holy Rome, and I was developing my own culture at the time. Not to mention I was involved in a minor war. It wasn’t until 1914 that I met this new country. I was hiding in a tomato box…”  
Germany smiled a bit at that. He remembered that day. It had seemed like such a cumbersome curse at the time, finding Italy. But he looked back on that day, when his only friends were his brother and a literal stick. Where all he had known was pain and heartbreak and pressure. And he compared it to now where he had two great friends, a relaxed but loving relationship with his brother, and a life where he had a hilarious argument about avocado socks over coffee. Where he baked apple cakes and made plans to tour Rome. Meeting Italy was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. 

“At first you terrified me.” Italy admitted as if it were a big secret. 

“I know.” Germany scoffed. “You begged for your life by telling me you had relatives from my country.” 

“I have Germanic blood, you know.” Italy replied with a watery smile. “Could’ve been right.” 

Grateful for a bit of a lighthearted break, Germany smiled with Italy at his sentiment.

“You scared me at first. But as we spent more time together and became friends, I began to wonder. I felt like I had seen those icy blue eyes somewhere. That blonde hair that was always combed so neatly. Holy Rome had always led with his heart and passion more than with his head, but he had the same temper and led the same tight ship that you do. It was almost as if you were what Holy Rome would be if he had the opportunity to grow up and mature. And I wondered… were you somehow Holy Rome?” 

There was a long pause. 

“You realize that is impossible, right?” Germany asked, frowning. But something about what Italy had said unsettled something deep within him.

“I thought that too, Germany. But then I began to ask around…” 

Germany felt an icy spike of fear. Could it be why people looked at him with such high expectations from his very unification? No way. It was impossible. “Who did you ask?” 

Italy hesitated, as if what he was about to say would have been the point of no return. “It… I asked Prussia.” 

Germany’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice was quiet. Brittle.

“He said… he said that much of what Germany is now was part of Holy Rome’s territory… all of Germany was in his territory. After Holy Rome fell apart, his body should have dissolved. But it went for years and didn’t change even one bit. 64 years exactly. Until 1871, when Prussia organized the German colonies to form the German Empire. The sword wound healed, Germany. And you… you were the result.” 

“No.” Germany said, his thoughts spiraling. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true, Germany.” Italy looked at Germany directly, trying to get in touch with him. 

“He- Prussia would have told me.” Germany protested, looking for any reason why he couldn’t have been Holy Rome. 

“He planned to, Germany.” 

“But why would he wait so long?” He asked. 

“Germany, you’re only 148 years old. At your age, I was still biologically a baby. Time is strange for nations. For how long Prussia has been alive, 148 years is almost like a week.”  
“Who… who else knows?” Germany asked. 

“Only the European nations, as far as I know.” Italy answered, looking away. “Everyone was so preoccupied at the time with whatever they had going on. New nations are born and dying all the time.”

Germany sat back in his chair. He smoothed his hand over his hair as he just tried to make sense of what he just heard. He scanned his mind for any clues, any hints of what happened. “I… I have a memory.” 

Italy faced him, his expression a blank canvas. “What?” 

“That one valentine’s day. During World War Two.” 

“I remember.” 

“The evening afterword, I had a dream… I- I saw a little girl. And my own arm, in a black sleeve tucked a flower behind her ear. That… was that you?” 

Italy’s eyes were swimming with tears. He nodded, appearing to have run out of words. 

Germany scrubbed his hands down his face. “I… I need to call my brother. This conversation isn’t over. I need to know everything, but first I need to call Prussia.” 

Italy nodded again. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll try to remember.” 

Germany frantically sat up and fast walked back to the guest bedroom, his thoughts reeling far too quickly for his mind to make sense of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prob'ly a bad idea to put Romano and this huge sad segment in the same chapter... at least if you're trying to learn how to fic better like I am. Ah well, I'd love advice for both of those parts if you little beauties could help me out! Thanks for reading, folks!


	5. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Germany has a talk with his brother, and he and Italy consider more forgotten memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this is the last true angst chapter. From here on out, it's fluff all the way. Thanks for hangin' on! XD

Germany waited in the guest room in tense silence. His thoughts were moving far too quick for him to examine any of them as the phone rang once, twice, three times. Just as the fourth ring was about to finish, the phone was picked up. 

_“West! Tell me, why have you called your awesome brother?”_ Prusia greeted in German.

_“When did you plan on telling me I was Holy Rome?”_ Germany was surprised by the steely sound of his own voice. The harshness. 

There was a staticky silence. 

_“Who told you?”_ All senses of bravado were gone, replaced only with some emotion Germany was unable to place. 

_“Italy.”_

_“Of course he did. I thought I told him to keep it quiet.”_ Prussia spat.

_“You what?”_ Germany’s voice was barely audible, dripping with malice. 

_“Ludwig, you have understand. You were a child. How was I supposed to tell you then, huh? With all those wars going on… the last thing you needed was to hear that.”_

_“And now? Now that I’m all grown? When did you plan on telling me?”_

_“You’re only 148 years old, Ludwig, it’s a miracle you aren’t learning to walk right now.”_

Germany splayed his hand on the surface of his bedside table. _“I’m not a child!”_ He was surprised at his volume.

_“Give me a break! It’s not like I’ve done this before!”_ Prussia said. _“They don’t exactly make manuals for this kind of thing! What should I have done?!”_

_“You should have told me before I had to watch my best friend beat up France over my own death! My entire life changed in a span of a day! Do you even regret it?”_ Germany shouted. 

_“You think I don’t regret it now?!”_ Prussia bellowed.

Germany pulled the phone away from his ear. 

_“Not now that it’s my fault you’re so confused?”_ Prussia’s voice sounded unusually fragile. He sighed. _“Ludwig, you are… the best thing that ever happened to me. At the time you came, I was alone, and… a little brother… you, my little brother. I had to raise you by myself. I’m the least qualified person to do that. But to see that you’ve grown up to be so good, so strong… better than me in every way not just as a country, but as a person? Ludwig, you are my greatest pride. I didn’t tell you because… I didn’t want you to lose that. Maybe once you had a stronger sense of self, maybe when you were stronger as a country. But I was scared. Totally un-awesome, huh?”_ Prussia declared in halfhearted humor. 

_“Gilbert…”_ Germany sighed. He was taken aback by the surprising amount of honesty Gilbert was communicating. The two of them were never the kind of people who engaged in heart-to-heart conversations. _“God, I’m so tired. I’m just… confused. We can talk when I get back home.”_

_“Okay, West. I’ll be waiting. We’ll both clear our heads.”_

_“Okay. I’ll see you at home.”_

_“Bye. Oh, and West?”_

“Hmm?” 

_“I’m proud of you. I don’t feel like I say that enough, but I am.”_

A weak smile spread across Germany’s face. _"That's unusually sappy."_

Prussia gave a short chuckle. _"Yeah, well I have to actually act like a big brother sometimes."_

_“I’m proud of you too, Gilbert.”_

_“Yeah, yeah. Take care of yourself, West.”_

_“See you at home, Gilbert.”_ He hung up the phone. He scrubbed a hand down his face. Touching as that moment was, he was still so confused. And outside the door of the guest room were all the answers he wanted. He paused for a moment before deciding that now was the time for comfy clothes. If there ever was time for them at… here he checked his watch… five p.m. in the evening, it was now. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open and he went into the hallway. Before he even entered the room, he heard Italy. 

“How was it?” 

“Why are you so nosy?” Germany asked, fully aware that he was attempting to deflect. He left the hall and got to the living room, rounding the couch and sitting down. Despite what he said, he freely gave an answer. “We’ll talk about it when I go home.” 

“Oh.” Italy nodded. “Will you be going home soon?” 

Germany took a deep breath and sighed. “No. I’ll probably stay, if it’s okay with you. Home is the last place I want to be right now.” 

Italy nodded again. There was a long pause in which both of their minds were reeling. “I know you probably have questions.” Italy finally admitted. “If you want, I can answer them the best that I can.” 

“Okay.” There was another silence as Germany collected his thoughts. “Is this why you didn’t let me touch you yesterday? Because of what happened?” 

“I… was conflicted.” Italy answered hesitantly. “On one hand I knew who you used to be. But you didn’t. For whatever reason, that scared me all over again. I usually don’t have a problem with that, of course, but figuring out that France did it… like I said, it opened an old wound for me and got those feelings back in my brain all over again.” 

Germany nodded. “Does Japan know? About who I used to be?” 

Italy shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was so far away from the action at the time… he was never really involved with the 30 years’ war anyhow. And he’s always been so closed off.” 

Again, Germany nodded. Despite Italy’s assurances, Germany couldn’t help but remember Japan’s face when Germany had asked him about what had happened. His assurances that it wasn’t his place to tell him what happened. 

“Are you going to tell him?” Italy asked. 

Germany tapped his fingers on his knee. “Probably not. Maybe. I’m not sure. He wouldn’t know what to think. It may be best that I just keep it to myself.” 

“You’re taking this remarkably calmly.” Italy said. 

“Well I had a feeling I wasn’t like the other nations,” Germany said, leaning back in the couch. Though his exterior appeared unbothered, he was unsure. He was on uneven ground and it startled him to an alarming degree. “I was born in warfare and yet people looked at me in a certain way. Even when I was young. Like they expected something from me. I have seen the births of many countries, and none of the other nations have ever looked at them like that. I always felt like there was something they knew about me that I didn’t.” 

Italy reached onto the coffee table, which Germany now noticed had two canvases. They were stacked so the images were facing each other, effectively blocking them from his view. 

“What’s that?” He asked. 

“Paintings from when I was little.” Italy answered, pulling them into his lap. He handled them with unusual gentleness. 

Germany nodded. “You want me to see them?” 

“If I were in your shoes,” Italy began, his eyes not leaving the canvas. “I would want to know everything. I would be scared, and confused… I don’t want you to feel like that. So I’m going to tell you everything and help you get your memories back.” Here he handed him the first canvas. 

Germany took it, unsure of how to hold it. An irrational part of him was worried that he would ruin the paint, so he just held it by the wooden framework on the back. He looked down at the painting. On the canvas was the image of what looked like a little girl, maybe seven or eight, curled up on a chair with a velvet seat cushion and taking a nap. A little handkerchief was tied over her head, protecting her short auburn locks. She wore a dress with a matching apron. “This is you.” His heart swelled with affection as he looked at it. He briefly wondered if this feeling was from the present, or from some unremembered past. 

Italy nodded. “I did it for him once during the Christmas holiday and I gave it to him. He said he would treasure it forever.” 

Germany nodded, his eyes raking over the painting. He looked back up at Italy. He hadn’t appeared to have changed all that much. He had grown taller, of course, and he had some lean muscle from the workouts Germany forced him into. But age had chiseled his features, giving him cheekbones and a narrow but strong jaw. His hair still lay the same, with that silly curl that was poking out of the handkerchief standing at attention. Germany’s only wish was that he could see the eyes in this painting. So he could compare them. Part of him wondered what he would see. 

“This doesn’t bring back any memories.” Germany admitted.

“I thought so.” And yet Italy looked disappointed. He outstretched his hand in a silent request for the painting, and he swapped it out for the other canvas. “This is Holy Rome.” 

Germany looked at the painting. It was of a boy in a dark black cloak and a black hat, standing at attention like a soldier. It was an odd posture for a young child. His blue eyes seemed to piece Germany as he gazed through the paint and up at him. Germany was struck by just how similar the two looked. He recalled how he looked during childhood and saw that they could have been the exact same two people… but then again, he supposed they were. “This is him?” 

“Yes.” Italy smiled slightly. “The day I painted that, I said I wanted to paint a soldier. A warrior. I knew he would like to hear that. Especially knowing that he would leave for the war soon… I asked him to smile for me to paint it, and he said, ‘A soldier doesn’t smile’. He wanted me to paint him like that. Standing at attention.” 

Had Germany been paying attention, he would have seen Italy staring at him. He would have seen him consider the man in front of him with his hand leaning against the palm that was propped up on the back of the couch. He would have noticed the loving air that surrounded him as Italy mused that while there were many differences between the two, some core aspects remained the same.   
But Germany was not paying attention. Because at that moment he felt an empty longing. An excitement as something at the base of his skull fought to be noticed. Fought to be remembered. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. 

_Long green grass rippled in the wind. It was cold for summer, but only cold enough for a thin coat. But there they were, him standing in the sunlight as he faced an easel._

_“Smile, Holy Rome, I want you to see how you look when you smile!” The voice was squeaky. So much lighter than his own._

_“A soldier doesn’t smile.” He answered. His voice even at his age was rather low. With a smooth timbre._

_A small face poked around the easel and grinned at him. “You’re not a soldier until you leave for the war!” Italy pointed out._

_Holy Rome didn’t even have the heart to fight against the smile that rose from deep within him. He had heard about this from Ms. Hungary. An affection so deep for someone where you felt you would do anything for them. He knew it was love, but he had no idea how to communicate it. He had never been good with emotions._

_“You should smile more, Holy Rome, you’re so much more handsome when you do!”_

_Holy Rome snapped out of it, his smile dropping. “Well you wanted to paint a soldier, so paint a soldier!” He snapped. Realizing what he said, he was disappointed in his temper yet again._

_Italy giggled behind the easel, putting him at ease. A couple moments later and Italy poked her head back over. “You can come see if you want!”_

_Holy Rome rounded the easel. He caught sight of Italy with the paintbrush, stroking at the canvas. Before he could see the painting, the memory faded._

Germany opened his eyes to the painting again. The painting of Holy Rome. Of him.

“Germany?” Italy asked quietly. 

Germany blinked, trying to make sense of what he just saw. 

“Germany,” Italy tried again, laying a hand on his leg. 

Germany’s gaze snapped to Italy. “I… remembered. When you made this painting.” 

“You did?” Italy asked, sounding like he hardly dared to believe it. 

Germany nodded. 

“And?” 

“It was warm. And windy. And you were wearing a dress.” _And I wanted to be with you. Even back then._ It was a loud thought that never escaped past his pursed hips. 

Italy nodded reminiscently. “That sounds about right…” 

Germany leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, once again scrubbing his hands down his face. “This is so…” 

“Complicated?” Italy suggested.

He nodded, staring ahead at the surface of the table. “You could say that.” 

Germany continued his thousand-yard stare, his thoughts moving too fast for his brain. “This is just so much.” He put his forehead in his hands again. After a moment of tense silence, he heard Italy’s clothes rustling on his side of the couch. He felt a weight settle next to him on the couch and he felt a gentle, timid hand splay its fingers between his shoulder blades. For whatever reason, Germany ached for the touch. Even though their lives were both so entwined, it was like there was a chasm of unremembered history stretching out between them. Like there was a separation that couldn’t be fixed. The touch of Italy’s hand was like a reminder that he was still there. Despite what had transpired, Italy wasn’t going to leave him. Not yet. 

Almost as if Italy had sensed the thought, Germany felt Italy’s arms wrap around his broad shoulders. He felt Italy burrow his face into his arm. For once, Germany didn’t feel taken aback or shy at this touch. It was like it filled a new void in his heart. The void where he thought he knew what everything was and what it meant. 

“I know it is. I… I’m sorry, Germany.” Italy said, his voice muffled by the fabric of Germany’s black t-shirt. 

Germany at last removed his hands from his face, letting them fall between his knees. “What for?” He asked, trying to distance himself from the situation as Italy withdrew his arms. He was never one to run away, but there was so much going on in his head. He needed to escape it somehow. Even if that meant distancing himself from the situation. “I know something new about myself. Things are starting to make sense. Why I kept you around after the first world war even when you annoyed the _Scheiße_ out of me, why my brother treated me like I was about to break… he was worried I would remember. Maybe- maybe it was repressed memory that made me keep you around.” He was unaware of how hurtful these words were, just trying to sound like he didn’t care. Just trying to sound like he was looking at this logically.

Italy faced his lap, barely registering the hurtful words. “I’m sorry Holy Rome died. I’m sorry I kept this from you for so long. I thought it was fairer to you because… you’re not Holy Rome anymore. You’re Germany. It wouldn’t have been fair to tell you who you were once. What I… what Holy Rome and I felt for each other at the time. It’s not a fair expectation for anyone.” He finally looked up at Germany, his eyes swimming in tears. “I… I didn’t want you to- I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want you to feel pressured, or- or like you had to be someone who you’re not. Because you’re not Holy Rome. Not anymore. You’re Germany.”

Germany straightened his back, the two considering each other. Their faces were now maybe a foot apart. Germany noticed as a ray of sunlight filtered across Italy’s eyes that they were almost honey gold in the sun. Even through tears. Germany felt such a storm of emotion. A blend of anger. Sorrow. Relief. Maybe even a little bit of happiness. But more than anything, he felt too much. And to add to that? Here Italy was apologizing for trying to protect him. He had honored the promise he made Prussia until he felt that Germany was ready. He blinked and wondered what Italy was thinking. He wondered if Italy shared the strong urge he had to lean over and close the short distance between them. 

_Gott,_ what was he thinking? He turned away. “Wipe away the tears. It’s a waste of time. You did what you did because you thought it was right, but it’s time to move on.” He stood. “We should probably think about dinner.” 

Italy stood, wiping his eyes with the hem of his untucked shirt. “Okay. Yeah, you’re right. What do you want?” 

Germany looked back at his friend, watching him clean himself up. He watched as Italy repaired himself to help him. To heal Germany, completely and unselfishly. _Gott,_ it was a miracle that he ran into this man. Thinking about this, Germany felt a small smile come through. “I’m thinking pasta.” 

Italy gave a watery grin as he swiped away the last tear tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'aww, poor Italy.


	6. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a difficult conversation, Germany and Italy make dinner. This chapter is basically just domestic fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait between the chapters. I swear I haven't abandoned the fic, it's just that I'm in the middle of a move.

The two worked in the kitchen, Italy insisting on making home-made… soup? Broth? As Germany boiled the noodles. He was content to just watch Italy chop and stir and simmer from his seat on a bar stool opposite of him. Other than boiling pasta, there was nothing for him to do. They talked about things that didn’t matter, reminiscing on Halloween parties and Christmas celebrations. Italy introduced the idea that he should host a holiday sometime. Perhaps Easter. 

Germany nodded. “It’s nice here in the spring.” 

Italy looked up from his work, brushing hair out of his face and behind his ear. “Yes. The flowers in my garden just start to bloom, and it smells so nice! It’s the kind of weather that makes you want to go on a walk and enjoy life, you know?” Though his words were deceptively bright, Germany had noted the fact that Italy had been averting his gaze the entire evening. 

Germany smiled slightly, hoping to reassure him. “It would be good to have everyone here.” 

Italy peered through his lashes at Germany. “Even America?” 

“Hmm, maybe not him.” Germany joked, standing to stir the pasta. 

“Oh, I know you have a soft spot for him.” Italy protested, dumping the cutting board into the sink. “Care to wash this for me?” 

Germany stepped over and started the water, waiting for it to heat up. The kitchen was starting to smell of spices. “I don’t have a soft spot for him.” 

Italy smiled, lightly pushing into Germany’s ribs with his elbow as he walked past him. “Sure.” Germany returned the smile. It seemed that now that the touch barrier had been broken, things were finally less tense.

The conversation faded as Germany enjoyed the warm kitchen, the tile underneath his socked feet, and Italy’s quiet humming. It was serene and peaceful. He gazed out the window facing Italy’s back garden, noting that Italy had strung up strands of round lights through the branches of the trees, barely visible against the searing light of the sunset against the clouds. 

“I think Japan is in love with him.” 

Germany blinked, shocked by Italy’s idea. “Really?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. He began scrubbing at the cutting board. 

“Mm-hmm!” 

Germany towel-dried the board and strode over to Italy. “I don’t believe you. Where does this go?” He lifted the cutting board up slightly.

Italy pointed to a narrow cupboard as he stirred the pasta sauce. “There. Have you seen how they interact?” 

“Yes.” Germany raised a single eyebrow as he put up the cupboard. “They talk as friends.” He opened the fridge and peered into the cheese drawer. “You have no parmesan.” 

Italy set his spoon on a spoon rest and walked over. “How did I run out of parmesan?” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you ate it all.” Germany looked over as Italy plucked a note from the door. 

Italy read the note in Italian. _“I got the last of the Parmesan. The Potato Bastard will take you to a farmer's market and you'll have to get more._ Romano."

“Romano took it?” Germany asked, surprised. “He must have stolen it while I was back in your office.” 

Italy shook his head with a fond smile, too distracted to question why Germany was back there in the first place. “He’s sneaky when he wants to be. He wants you to take me to a farmer’s market to get more.” 

Germany hummed. “I’m sure we can find one over the next couple days.” 

“That would be fun!” Italy agreed, stuffing the note in his pocket. 

“So you were saying?” Germany asked, shutting the fridge door. “About Japan and America?” 

“Oh, so you’re interested?” Italy asked with a grin, untying his apron and hanging it on a magnetized hook on the fridge. 

Germany felt his cheeks heat up. “I just want to know how Japan is doing. It’s what friends do.” 

Italy quirked an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm... have you ever noticed that when America walks in, Japan is one of the first to notice? He always seems to have time to watch a scary movie with him, no matter what he has going on.” 

“That’s a friend thing.” Germany protested. “I do the same for you.” Despite the neutral tone of his voice, he felt shaky. Sure, he did the same thing, but what he felt for Italy was beyond friendship.

“Well yes,” Italy allowed. “But is Japan really the type? You’re really affectionate. He’s not.” 

“I’m not affectionate!” Germany protested loudly. 

Italy turned off the burner to the pasta and carried it over to the strainer. Germany hadn’t even realized he’d forgotten about it. “Sure you are! Everyone’s affectionate in their own way. Like when you remind me to grab an umbrella when it rains, or when you taught me how to throw a hand grenade, or how sometimes when I fall asleep on the couch you carry me to bed!” 

Germany grunted. “All that is just human decency.” He determinedly ignored the other man as he pulled two bowls from the cupboard. 

“You are affectionate in your actions. Not in words.” Italy continued, carrying the strainer back to the stove and dumping the pasta into the liquid in the pot. He stirred the contents and sniffed, sighing. “So is Japan. But he is less open about it. He is antisocial and often doesn’t enjoy going to other people’s houses, but he goes to America’s more frequently than anyone’s. More frequent than yours and ours, even!” 

Germany considered this, grabbing two spoons. “Suppose you were somehow right. What about America how does he feel?” 

“What does he always say? His catchphrase, maybe?” 

“... ‘I’m hungry’?” 

Italy laughed. “Other than that.” 

“Well, he always refers to himself as a hero.” Germany answered, carrying the dishes to the table. “What do you want to drink?” 

Italy tipped the pot over, pouring the soup into a serving bowl. “Wine, please.” 

“What kind?” Germany grabbed two wine glasses. 

“Hmm... how about the Masseto Toscana? It should go well with the soup.” 

Germany crouched by the wine rack, his eyebrows furrowed. He started pulling the bottles out one by one, examining the labels. “Why is him calling himself a hero relevant?” 

Italy carried the bowl over to the table. “Because he cares a lot about his self image, right?” 

Germany growled to himself as he pulled the third bottle of wine off the rack. “So?” 

“Why would he call Japan over to watch scary movies constantly if it made him look like a coward?” 

Germany prayed for the sweet release of death as he pulled the sixth bottle of wine halfway off the rack before noticing that the label was wrong. 

Italy crouched next to him and considered the wine rack for a moment before removing a bottle from the bottom row. “Perhaps because America wants an excuse for Japan to come over.” 

Straightening along with Italy, Germany grunted an affirmation. 

“You think I’m right?” Italy asked, delightedly beaming as he noticed Germany had nothing to say.

_“Nein.”_ Germany answered, making his way to the table. “I just can’t believe this conversation is actually starting to make logical sense.” He took a seat. 

Italy shook his head, also sitting. “You just wait, Germany. Watch them spend time together and you’ll have to believe me!” 

Germany grunted, ladleing soup into his bowl. “Not likely. What is this you’ve made?” 

Italy let the conversation slide. _“Pasta e Fagioli!”_ He proclaimed, popping the cork of the wine and pouring himself half a glass. He offered his hand for Germany’s glass.

Germany passed it. He always preferred a cold beer to anything else, but it wasn’t like he hated wine. “Sounds good.” He accepted his glass and took a bite of the soup, the warmth seeping through his entire being and soothing all the emotional ache of the day. 

“It’s good?” Italy asked. 

Germany realized his eyes had closed as he opened them. “It’s _wunderbare_.” 

“Great!” Italy’s entire being seemed to brighten at his words. 

“I was thinking about what we could do tomorrow. It has been so long since I’ve taken time to tour your country. I was thinking we could walk around Rome.” 

Italy laughed, taking a sip of wine. “If you want to see what has changed here, Rome isn’t the best place to do it, Germany, everything is so old!”

Germany hummed. “Perhaps. I just remember we had a good time there.” 

“Aww, Germany, that’s so sweet!” 

“Germany attempted to hide his embarrassment by tilting his wine glass upward and taking a sip. 

“How is it?” Italy asked. 

Germany tried to think of something intelligent to say. He knew that Italy was something of a wine aficionado. “It... tastes like wine. Good wine. It tastes good.” 

Italy smiled like he was trying to hold in laughter. “I hope so, I have been saving it for a special occasion!” 

“What special occasion?” Germany hoped Italy didn’t intend to mention the discoveries of today. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. 

Italy raised his wine glass in a toast. “Your first vacation since 1990!” 

Germany raised his glass, smiling. The two clinked their glasses. 

“This wine was bottled that same year, you know.” Italy quipped. “Very convenient! Almost like it was meant to be!” 

“We took that vacation in Turkey, yes?” Germany asked, taking another sip of wine. It was starting to grow on him. 

Italy nodded. “Yes! Your latest vacation and it is with me almost three decades later... if that isn’t a reason to open up a 2,000 euro bottle of wine, I don’t know what is!” 

Germany choked on his drink. He coughed and hacked, bending forward on the table as the worst of the coughs passed.

“Are you okay?” Italy asked. 

_“What the hell?!”_ He cursed in German.

“Gesundheit.” Italy offered. 

Germany stared at the glass sitting on the table, wondering how much money he had drank in the two sips he had. “This wine was 2,000 euros?!” 

Italy shrugged. “Well it was actually around 2,300, but... I’m not really particular about that sort of thing.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Germany gasped. 

“Well if you’re religious, yes!” 

Germany squinted confusedly at the man sitting opposite of him. 

“Get it? Wine? Blood of Christ?” Italy tried, stirring his soup. “It’s a Catholic joke.” 

Germany lay his forehead in his palm. “My God, Italy.” 

“Actually, he’s my God unless you’re Cath-” 

“Italy!” 

Germany lay in bed a few hours later, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. He allowed it to hang over his forehead and brush his eyebrows as he stared at the wall. Italy’s guest room had always been beautiful, what with the four poster bed and the glass double doors that lead to a balcony. The moon was half full tonight, allowing a soft blue light to spill into the room. What exactly had happened today? Well, he knew what happened. But it was just so much to process. How do you process learning that the past you thought you had wasn’t even half of your life? That you had an entire past that you didn’t even remember? That you died and somehow miraculously came back to life? It was all so much. There was really nothing he could do for that except give himself time to acclimate himself to this feeling. To this desire to learn about himself. 

He realized that he was so busy worrying about all that that he had barely taken the time to consider what this meant for Italy. For him. For the both of them, maybe. They used to be... together? Maybe? Did that even count? Here Germany thought he had never even had his first kiss when he had it with Italy of all people. And Italy... he’d loved him too, once. That was the worst part. That in the past he had what was perhaps his greatest desire and he couldn’t even remember it. And beside that was the question of if Italy was even his friend because he was Germany. Did Italy stick around for who he was now, or for a ghost of someone Germany didn’t even know? Of someone he didn’t even remember? The question had been gnawing at his thoughts all day. A dull ache in the back of his mind as he joked around with Italy and spent the rest of the day in what could have been considered a domestic atmosphere. He sighed aloud and turned onto his back. It was then that he saw a shadow in the doorway. 

“Germany?” It said. 

Germany sat up in his bed, allowing the covers to fall off his shoulders and into his lap. “Italy.” He rubbed his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?” 

Italy stepped forward into the moonlight, his tan skin unusually pale in the blue light. He wore a T-shirt that was slightly too large for him over a pair of boxers. His hair was tousled, but Germany figured that was from tossing and turning more than anything else. “No.” 

Germany nodded. “Me neither.” 

Italy’s right hand crossed over his body and gripped his left wrist sheepishly. “... Would you mind if I shared your bed with you tonight?” 

Uh-oh. “At least you actually asked this time.” Germany sighed, scooching over and pulling the covers back for him. “It beats you sneaking in while I’m sleeping.” 

Italy smiled, his shy air disappearing entirely. “Yes! Thank you, Germany!” 

Germany lay back down, glad for the darkness as it shielded Italy from the glowing blush on his cheeks. “ _Ja ja,_ just try not to take all the covers this time.” 

“I will. Thank you, Germany.” 

Silence reigned as Germany turned on his side, his back facing Italy. He shut his eyes, willing himself to go to sleep. Minutes passed and he didn’t get any more tired. 

“Something is wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

Germany didn’t even turn his head. “No.” 

The weight on the bed shifted as Italy turned to face Germany, propping himself up on his elbow. “You’re lying. I said earlier I would answer all your questions, remember?” 

“I said there was nothing wrong, and there is nothing wrong.” Germany snapped. “Why can’t you just listen?” 

“Do you remember when we became friends?” 

Germany furrowed his brows. He wondered if Italy had figured out what was bothering him. “Unfortunately.”

“I say a lot of things, Germany. I love to talk! But I remember something I said that day. I said that we could protect each other, and I would disappoint you! It was a promise I made when we formed our alliance!” 

“You realize that was not in the formal agree-” 

“-Point being,” Italy interrupted. “It was a promise I made when we formed our alliance. Our friendship! So when I don’t listen to what you say, I am only making good on my promise.” 

Germany turned over at this, fixating his beady glare on Italy. 

He was smiling uncaringly, like Germany had just offered to tell him a joke. He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. 

Germany contemplated what he said, wondering if he should even bother. How would it look if he asked Italy that question? Would that make things weird? Worst of all, what if Italy had befriended Germany because he was Holy Rome before? What then? “It really isn’t a big deal.” 

“It is to me.” Italy said. He delivered it like his words had no weight. Like it wasn’t the very thing Germany needed to hear most. 

Germany sighed and faced the ceiling again. He tried to speak as though he weren’t contemplating this all day. “When you found me, did you just want to become my friend to see if I was Holy Rome?” 

There was only the briefest pause. 

“Germany, do you really think that?” Italy asked, his voice heavy.

Germany frowned, not tearing his gaze away from the ceiling. “I don’t know. I was just wondering.” 

“No!” Italy protested, shaking his head furiously. “Not at all! I only started suspecting it after World War Two!” 

Germany finally looked at Italy. “Really?” 

“Of course! I thought you just looked like him! The same way that Canada looks like America, or like Sealand looks like a gremlin! Before I was an investigator, Germany, I was your friend. First and foremost, always and forever!” 

Germany felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders. “Oh. That’s good.” He said. 

Italy lay down and faced him, his brown eyes gazing cautiously into his blue. His mouth split into a smile. “What do you want to do in Rome tomorrow?” 

“Mm... we have to see the colosseum for sure.” Germany answered, fully aware that Italy was trying to distract him. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been seen it.” Italy reminisced.

“How long?” 

Italy frowned, thinking. 

Germany noticed Italy’s eyes were half closed, weighed down by exhaustion. 

“Probably... actually, I don’t think I’ve been there since it was still an actual arena...” 

“How long ago was that?” Germany asked, slightly shocked. 

“Mm...” Italy yawned. “I don’t know. It’s too late to think.” 

The corners of Germany’s mouth lifted as Italy’s eyes fluttered closed. 

“Good night, Germany.”

“Good night, Italy.” Germany let his eyes close as well, immediately sinking into a heavy and merciful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look it up, y'all. Those are actual prices. Yeezus. 
> 
> Also, I love Sealand from the bottom of my cold, dead heart. I just couldn't resist. XD
> 
> Comments are what keep me going, folks, especially with all this stress. Could you guys just take a quick moment and drop one? It makes my week. I wish I was kidding. Thanks!


	7. Singing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy prepare for a day in Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important notes about the future of this fic, and a potential new one at the bottom!

Germany faded into consciousness slowly, the light from the windows shining through his eyelids. _Verdammt_ , he forgot to set his alarm. Guess a morning jog was off the table. The second thing he was aware of was the body curled into his. Of his arm around a soft waist. Italy’s forehead lay a few inches from Germany’s own, his clasped hands resting between their chests as they rose and fell. Germany squinted slightly from the bright light of the sun. For a few unguarded moments, he let them roam across Italy’s relaxed face. 

His long eyelashes cast thin, almost invisible shadows underneath his closed eyes. His hair was pushed away from his forehead, allowing the sunlight to spill across his face. Germany pondered on the fact that he had never noticed the light freckles that were peppered across the bridge of Italy's nose. They were so light and small that they were probably impossible to see from further away.   
Germany took a breath, carefully withdrawing his arm from Italy’s waist. It was probably better that he leave now and make them breakfast than try to explain to Italy why he was awake and still in bed. His bare feet hit the carpet of the room as he stood, stretched, and scratched the back of his head before he looked back down at Italy. He noticed that the covers had settled on the dip of his waist. Before he could consider what he was doing, Germany bent over and pulled the covers to rest on Italy’s shoulders. Italy stirred, but continued his slumber. 

Germany’s first order of business was to make something for breakfast. He rummaged around the kitchen, finding the few ingredients required to make German breakfast pancakes. Eggs, milk, flour, salt. Simple. This recipe was the taste of his childhood, as this was about the only thing Prussia was capable of making himself. As a result, he didn’t even use a recipe as he mixed the ingredients together. He had memorized the consistency and taste. By the time the oven was preheated, the batter was already poured into a greased pan. He set the batter in the oven before pacing back to the guest room, being quiet as he strode across the carpet to the bathroom. 

Before he went to bed the night before, he made sure to unpack all his stuff and set his toiletries in the bathroom. He turned on the water to brush his teeth, looking at himself in the mirror. He lowered the toothbrush. Perhaps Italy could look at himself in the mirror and see who he was before Holy Rome fell. Maybe he could look back and reminisce on how much he had changed since then. But all Germany could remember as he looked in the mirror was when he was young Germany. Never Holy Rome. Sure, he could see that they were one and the same. But when he tried to visualize himself as Holy Rome, all he could see was when he was living at Prussia’s house, trying to figure out paperwork designed for a full grown man. 

He finished brushing his teeth, leaning against the bathroom counter. He sighed to himself, wondering just how long it would take to adjust to this revelation. He pulled his hair gel from the cabinet and combed his hair. Did Holy Rome grease his hair back, or did he let it hang down? He squirted gel into his palms and rubbed them together, running them over his platinum blonde hair. He gave himself a once-over in the mirror before nodding with satisfaction and rinsing his hands off. He left the bathroom, looking over at Italy as he crossed over to the dresser. The wood drawer scraped against the body of the dresser, causing Germany to cringe. He gathered his clothes, his grimace deepening as the drawers continued to scrape. He finally finished gathering his clothes. He padded lightly across the carpeted floor back to the bathroom, stopping and turning as he heard rustling on the bed. 

Italy stretched and yawned before opening his eyes. “Hmm... good morning, Germany. You’re already up?” 

Germany glanced down at the watch on top of the stack of clothes. “Of course. It’s almost nine.” 

“Ooh! I got up early!” Italy cheered, sitting up. 

“I don’t know how you get anything done.” Germany chastised, shaking his head. “Get dressed and set the table. Breakfast will be ready soon.” 

Italy stood from the bed. “I like it when you come over, Germany, I wake up to breakfast!” 

“ _Ja Ja,_ It will be ready in about twenty minutes.” 

Italy flounced out of the room, humming some song to himself.

Germany locked the door to the bedroom and changed into his outfit for the day. He surveyed himself in the mirror. He was wearing a barely-blue dry fit T-shirt with a pair of khaki cargo pants. He had pulled some black military boots over them. He turned slightly to the side. Overall, he looked pretty good. He didn’t look nearly as pasty with this shirt on. To finish off, he grabbed his pair of sunglasses off the dresser and left the room. He smelled the pancake in the oven as he walked in the kitchen, surprised to see that Italy had already gotten dressed and was sitting at the set table. The circular table had been draped in a white tablecloth, with two plates set across from each other. At the right of each plate there was a tall glass of orange juice and Italy had taken a long, narrow glass from the cupboard and stuck in a couple blue cornflowers from the garden. 

Italy was sitting there, folding forks and knives into fabric napkins. “Ciao, Germany! I set the table!” 

“I see that. Looks nice.” Germany said, setting his sunglasses on the counter and grabbing two potholders. He opened the oven door and pulled out the German breakfast pancake, nodding to himself as he noticed it had baked perfectly. 

Italy was at his shoulder, sniffing. “Mm! Is that a breakfast casserole?” 

“No. It’s a German breakfast pancake. You eat it with syrup and butter.” 

“Mm! I’ll go find them!” Italy volunteered, scampering off. 

Germany carried the hot dish over to the table, placing it on the potholders. “We’re ready.” 

Italy bounced over, carrying the butter and maple syrup. “Yay! I’m so hungry.” 

“You’re always hungry.” Germany said. 

Italy nodded. “But this is something new! New food always makes me more hungry!” 

Germany sat down, hoping Italy’s expectations weren’t too high. “It’s really nothing. There are only five ingredients.” He cut away a piece, offering a hand out for Italy’s plate. 

Italy passed it over. “You’re a great cook, Germany! It’ll be delicious!” 

Germany passed the plate back, a piece of the bubbly pancake weighing it down. He was about to continue the conversation as Italy’s phone rang in his back pocket, playing the Crystal Gems theme song. Gemany furrowed his brow. “Who calls during breakfast?” 

Italy shrugged, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. As he looked down at it, Germany could read that the screen said: _il fratellino_. 

“Seborga.” Germany said, unsurprised. If there was anyone he knew to call during a mealtime... 

Italy swiped the screen. 

Seborga’s tinny breathing came through the speaker. _“Che succede, stronza!”_

“Speakerphone, Seborga!” Italy warned, sounding slightly harried. 

“Oh, my bad. I’ll translate: What’s up, bitch?! and Germany and Japan, probably? _Ciao,_ guys!” Seborga corrected.

“Just Germany and I!” Italy answered, leaning on his hand as he cut away a piece of the pancake. 

“Where’s Japan? I like that guy!” 

Italy peered over at Germany across the table, gesturing toward the phone. 

Germany cleared his throat awkwardly. “He had to go back home. Apparently his boss needed him.” 

“Aww, shame. How long are you staying, Germany?” 

“Six days.” He answered. 

“Mm... lucky you, Veniciano, huh?” Seborga added coyly. 

Italy raised an eyebrow. “What-?” 

“-You get to spend all that time with your best friend!” Seborga finished. 

Germany felt his cheeks heat up, well aware that according to Prussia, Seborga likely knew how he felt about Italy. 

“Oh, yes!” Italy brightened up, looking excitedly at Germany. “We’re touring Rome today!” 

“Whoa, really? I love it there!” Seborga replied. “What are you going to see?” 

“We’ve already decided on the Colosseum,” Italy frowned, thinking. “We wanted to talk about what we would do today, but...” 

“He fell asleep.” Germany finished, shaking his head. 

“Sounds like my brother.” Seborga laughed. “You guys should stop by my neck of the woods sometime!” 

“Ooh, I would love that! It’s been too long!” Italy agreed. He turned to Germany. “Have you ever been, Germany?” 

Germany hummed. “I can’t say I have. Might be nice.” 

“Might?” Seborga asked. “It’s the hidden jewel of Italy! Even better than Rome, if you ask me. I’d be glad to have you! Veniciano, could you take me off the speaker for a moment?” 

Italy nodded, not looking surprised by the sudden change in subject. Apparently, this was behavior he was accustomed to. “Sure.” He swiped the phone, holding it to his ear. He shoveled a final bite of the pancake into his mouth before he left the table. “Hmm?” 

Germany picked at his food as he heard Italy’s voice go down the hallway. _“I'm fine. It was just a shock, you know?"_ Italy chattered in Italian. There was a pause. Germany heard a door open. _“Yes, but..."_ His sentence was cut off as the door shut. 

After he finished his meal, Germany cleared away his dishes and put them in a dishwasher. The kitchen was clean by the time Italy had finished his phone call and had come back. 

“I’m sorry that I left the mess to you, Germany.” Italy apologized, reclaiming his seat at the table. 

Germany slung the damp drying towel over his shoulder as he finished drying up the last dish. “You don’t fool me for a second, Italy. You’re glad you didn’t have to clean up.” 

Italy giggled, picking up his glass. “You got me.” 

“You did bring up a fair point earlier, though. What did you want to see in Rome?” Germany asked, taking his seat at the table. 

“The Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel... they’re so pretty.” 

“That’s it?” 

“The Spanish Steps, probably.” 

“That isn’t much.” Said Germany. 

“Well if we plan on walking and enjoying the weather, it’s plenty! Plus if we stop for lunch, maybe dinner... plus if we want to come back and take a siesta...” 

Germany considered this. “I suppose so... the only concern will be crowds.” 

Italy shook his head. “Actually, November is one of the least busy times! The only thing we would have to worry about would be rain, but this week is miraculously dry! And not too hot, either. You came at the perfect time!” 

“Hmm... very convenient.” 

“Right? I’d guess that’s fate telling you to take vacations more often.” Italy replied. 

“Should we go after breakfast?’ Germany asked. 

Italy nodded, shoveling the rest of his food in his mouth. “Done!” He said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food. 

“Gross. Take care of your dishes and I’ll pack a backpack.” Germany said. 

Italy nodded, carrying his plate and glass back. 

Germany shook his head as he went back to his room to grab a backpack. He threw in his wallet, ensuring that his I.D. was there. It was unique, showing both a front, and side photo. On the bottom right was an insignia showing that he was a personification of a nation. His eye color was described, as well as his height and age. 148 years old. In parentheses before the number, was a line of text that said: _German Empire_. Luckily, the section that detailed his name said Germany. He would have to remind Italy to grab I.D. as well. He stopped in the kitchen to throw various snacks in the bag. Though his paycheck as a nation was generous, he didn’t plan on wasting it frivolously. 

“Italy?” He called through the house. 

Thundering footsteps through the hall answered him. “Here!” He was donned in a white T-shirt and a pair of denim shorts. Germany was taken aback as he noticed the Gucci fanny pack buckled around his waist. 

“Italy, I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear that out.” 

“What, you mean this?” Italy pointed at the fanny pack. 

Germany nodded. “It’s going to be a target for pick-pockets. Not to mention it’s ugly.” 

Italy gasped. “Ugly?! It’s the height of fashion!” 

Germany squinted. “Why did you even buy it?” 

“Romano told me they were cool.” Italy shrugged. “He has five at his house.” 

Germany sighed. He doubted he would ever understand Italy and his siblings. “If you’re fine with being robbed...” 

“I won’t be!” Italy assured him, grabbing his keys out of the key bowl. 

“No you don’t, we’re driving my car.” Germany said, leaning over to grab his own keys. He tried not to notice just how close he was to Italy. His back was nearly touching his chest. 

“Fine.” Italy said, closing the space between him and leaning back against Germany. “You can drive.” 

Germany cleared his throat, stepping backward, catching Italy by the shoulders as he almost fell backwards. “Whoa.” He pushed Italy back into a standing position. “I don’t want to be stranded in Rome when your keys are stolen with your ugly fanny pack.” 

“But it won’t be stolen!” Italy protested. He grabbed a sketchbook off the counter and shoved it into Germany’s backpack as he followed Germany through a door in the hallway to the garage.  
The air was several degrees hotter in there. 

Germany noticed junk in cardboard boxes stacked all around them, providing only a narrow path for them to walk toward the car. He needed to get Italy to organize the garage. “And you can guarantee this?” He asked, opening the door to his black car. 

“Well... no.” Italy admitted, sliding in the passenger side. “But if it gets stolen, you can protect me and get it back from the thief!” 

Germany started the car, rolling down the windows immediately. He wanted to enjoy the nice weather. “Unlikely.” He backed the car out of the garage. “I would probably be doing you a favor by letting the thief take it.” He teased, starting down the driveway. He looked out the side window. Italy’s estate was perched on the top of a hill, with a spiral road encircling it to the bottom. Through the canopy of the trees, the city was sprawled beneath them in a crowd of matchbox buildings and little ant cars. 

Italy harrumphed in his seat. “Well if you’re going to be mean to me, I’m going to control the music.” 

Germany smiled to himself, directing his eyes back to the road. “That’s fair.” Germany wasn’t a huge fan of Italy’s taste in music, but this trip was to comfort him. “Go ahead.” 

Italy raised his eyebrows and smiled, apparently not expecting Germany’s consent. “Yay!” He pulled out his phone. “Now... what should I turn on? Ooh!” 

Looking over briefly to Italy’s phone, he saw a song called: _Per un Milione_.

Italy looked out the window as the tones of the song rang through the car, his light voice joining in as the lyrics started with an accelerated beat. _“Ti giuro che l’attesa aumenta il desiderio, È un conto alla rovescia…”_

Though Germany couldn’t understand what they were saying, he found his head subtly bouncing along with the beat of the music as they drove off the hill and onto the country roads. The song appeared to be a rap song of sorts, and it had a bit of a relaxed feel to it. As they drove closer to Rome, there was a mix of Italian and English songs, very few of which Germany knew of. And Italy sang to every single one. While this would have ordinarily annoyed him, Germany was initially too taken with the warmth, the sun, and the relaxation of driving that he couldn’t find himself to clear. As they were on the edge of the city, though, he was quickly running out of patience. 

“Ooh, I love this song!” Italy cheered as guitar tones came through. He turned up the music yet again. Bradley Cooper started singing, and Germany recognized the song immediately. America had been posting it on his Instagram story for weeks now. 

Italy appeared to be content with just listening until Lady Gaga came on, during which Italy sang quietly. As they pulled up to a stoplight, Italy vibrated with excitement. “Germany, listen to me hit this high note.” 

“Oh-” 

_“I’m off the deep end, watch as I dive in, I’ll never_ meet _the ground...”_ Italy screeched, his voice cracking. 

Germany winced. He noticed the other people parked around them were turning their heads and staring. “Italy, please stop.” 

“No- _CRASH THROUGH THE SURFACE, WHERE THEY CAN’T HURT US,_ " Italy scream-sang the song even louder, prompting Germany to roll up the windows with the hope that Italy’s cracking voice wouldn’t be heard by strangers. “It’s not working.” 

“Obviously! You can’t sing!” Germany barked over the bass rattling his speakers. 

“My heart can!” Italy replied quickly, clearing his throat as Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper harmonized the next lyrics. 

“Your heart sounds terrible...” Germany muttered to himself, resigning himself to his fate. 

Italy ignored him, leaning forward as he prepared for the next part. He cleared his throat again, humming quietly along with the couple of guitar tones. As Lady Gaga began vocalizing, so did he. His absurdly high voice strained against the low notes, but followed as it launched into the high note. Italy spasmed excitedly as he held it, grabbing Germany’s shoulder and shaking it frantically. 

The light finally turned green, Germany batting his hand away as he drove. “Yes, good job, you can sing. Now can you please stop!” 

Italy excitedly sang the chorus on pitch this time, spastically punching the air with each beat of the drum. Too excited to care about singing properly with the rest of the song, he shouted out the last bit of the song as it grated on Germany’s ears. 

As the ending notes faded out, Germany found that he was somewhat impressed with how well Italy did singing the song. Granted, he would have rather gone without hearing Italy’s pitchy singing during the beginning and ending, but it was still rather impressive. 

Italy gasped as the next song came on. “Germany! We should sing that song together sometime!” 

“What?” Germany asked, turning the corner. “No.” 

“Why not? I bet you could do it if you really tried! You could sing the guy part!"

Germany shook his head. “I don’t sing.” 

“Aww, but Germany, I bet you have a pretty voice! You do when you’re not shouting at me.” 

Germany was starting to get irritated. “You’re getting close to me shouting at you now.” 

Italy shrugged, knowing it was an empty threat. “Okay, but I’m just saying...” 

Germany was about to reply when Italy sat forward in his seat, pointing. 

“Look! The colosseum!” 

Indeed, it was standing down the street. Germany was pleased to see that there were not too many people around it. Not that it would have mattered. A quick flash of the I.D. and him and Italy would be allowed first priority into any cultural or historical attraction for free. One of the perks of being a nation, he supposed. But it wasn’t one he utilized often. 

“It doesn’t look busy!” Italy added, sitting back in his seat. 

“Did you bring your I.D.?” 

Italy unzipped the ugly fanny pack, withdrawing his wallet. “Yup!” He showed it to Germany, the photos having a hint of a smile. 

“Good. We’re going to need it.” 

Italy smiled, looking back out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are so supportive and awesome. Thank you! As exams are fast approaching, updates will be a little infrequent, but I plan on finishing this story. Thank you so much! Also, would anyone be interested in a fic where Germany gets Hanahaki disease for Italy? Asking for a friend (hint, it's me).


	8. When In Rome...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy take Rome... eventually.

Germany drove around, eventually parking on a side street a couple blocks away from the colloseum. As he got out of the car, he reached in the backseat and grabbed his backpack. He pulled out his sunglasses and donned them, glad that there was a slight breeze in the air. 

Italy scurried over to where he was, latching onto his arm and pulling Germany along with him. “Come on! We have to see everything!” 

Germany fast-walked up beside Italy, not pulling his arm out of his grip as they walked. “The colosseum will still be there in the ten minutes it takes for us to get there.” 

Italy slowed down. “I suppose so... I’m just so excited! It’s been so long since we’ve taken a vacation together!” His smile dimmed slightly. “I only wish Japan was here... that would be perfect.” 

“Hm.” Germany pulled out his phone. It was a Wednesday. It was farfetched that Japan would get a day off, but Japan was similar to Germany in the way that he sparingly took vacations. Perhaps his boss would grace Japan with a day off in the middle of the week. “Perhaps he can come down tomorrow to spend the day with us.” He sent Japan a text inviting him. 

Italy gasped. “That’s a great idea! We can all go down to Seborga’s place tomorrow! I know he likes Japan.” 

Germany hummed. “Japan seems to make a lot of unlikely friends.” 

Italy laughed, leaning into Germany’s arm. “You’re right, but every introvert needs a couple extroverts to pull them around! Kind of like you and I!” 

“In your case, literally pulling me.” 

The two lapsed into silence, enjoying their time together and the beautiful scenery around them. The sun’s rays hit the windows of the shops, illuminating the people milling within. The two stopped every few minutes as Italy insisted on taking photos. Photos of trees, flowers, and shops. Finally, right outside the colosseum, Italy tightened his hold on Germany’s arm. “Germany, smile! I want to take a picture of us!” 

Germany looked at the phone Italy had in his extended arm. “No.” 

Italy lowered the phone, looking dismayed. “What? Why?”

“I don’t smile.” 

Italy released Germany’s arm. “Of course you do! Maybe you don’t realize it, but you do all the time! It’s a lovely smile!” 

“I still won’t.” Germany retorted, missing the touch.

Italy frowned. “Fine, I’ll just keep bugging you until you do!” 

“You forget that I have put up with you annoying me for the past 100 years.” Germany replied, determinedly ignoring two passing ladies who gave him a double-take, muttering to each other. 

Italy took his arm again, holding up the phone. “Fine then, Mr. Grumpy-Pants. Ruin my memories of vacation with your frowny face!” 

_“Excuse me,”_ A girl’s voice chimed in Italian before Germany could reply. 

Germany glanced behind him. 

A girl with jaw-length blonde hair wearing a sundress did an awkward half-jog-half-walk over to them. She looked to be in her mid-teens, her various brochures and translator book sticking out of her purse an obvious indicator to Germany that she was a foreigner. 

Italy followed Germany’s gaze. _“Yes? Is there something I can help you with?”_

“Uhh...” She pulled the pocket-sized translator book out of her purse, holding up a finger. _“Un momento.”_ She attempted. 

Looking at her book, Germany noticed it was in English. “You speak English?”

The girl looked up, obviously relieved. “Oh, good! You speak English! Yeah, I am.”

Germany noted her American accent. 

Italy brightened. “Oh! That explains why you tried to speak to me in Spanish, I guess.” 

The girl had a visible blush on her ears. “Oh, yeah... sorry, someone I know is learning Italian and she said it was a lot like Spanish, so I just kind of hoped... sorry about that.” 

Italy smiled and waved his hand. “It’s fine! Languages are hard. Was there something we could help you with?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The girl cleared her throat. “I saw you were trying to take a photo and I was wondering if you wanted me to take one for you guys. My girlfriend is pretty short, so I know how hard it is to take couples’ photos when there’s a height difference.” 

Germany felt his cheeks heat up as he pulled off his sunglasses. “You’re mistaken. We’re not a couple.” 

The blush on the girl’s ears spread to her cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry! I just saw you were holding his- it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.” Her eyes widened with recognition. “Oh my God. You’re Germany.” 

Germany was suddenly very aware of the fact that Italy was still holding onto his arm. He moved it out of his grip. “Er... yes.” 

“Then you must be Italy.” The girl realized, moving her focus onto Italy as she turned to retreat. “I’m sorry I bothered you gu-”

“No, wait!” Italy said with a friendly smile, holding out his phone to her. “Could I actually take you up on that offer?” 

Germany looked at the smaller nation, noticing that he was trying to calm her down. He suddenly felt slightly guilty about how he snapped. “Um... a photo would be nice.” 

The girl looked up at him, still blushing. “Uh, sure!” She stepped back. 

Italy slung his arm around Germany’s waist. Germany, trying not to look awkward, rested his on Italy’s shoulders as he smiled stiffly.

There were a few seconds of silence as the girl snapped a few photos before coming and returning Italy his phone. “Here, I hope you’re happy with them.” 

Italy took it and scrolled through the camera roll, grinning. “Yeah, they're great!”

The girl smiled. “Good! I’m glad to hear it. Sorry again.” 

“You’re fine!” Italy assured, grinning at her. He looked up at Germany expectantly. 

Germany looked at the girl and cleared his throat. “ _Ja,_ it’s not a big deal.” 

“Thanks. Have a good day, guys!” The girl turned as she waved. 

“Bye, thanks for the picture!” Italy called to her retreating back. 

Germany looked over Italy’s shoulder as he looked at the photos again. They were rather good, he supposed. They would have been better if he had been able to just keep a neutral expression. He looked at Italy’s face now, watching as he flicked through the photos, making little comments about them. Germany hardly payed attention, his mind dwelling on how that girl thought they were a couple. For whatever reason, that didn’t bother him too much. _You know the reason._ His mind chided. _It’s because you wish you were._

Germany heard a chime in his pocket, startling him out of his thoughts. He reached in his back pocket and checked the text. 

_I got approval from my boss. I will be down tomorrow morning at nine._

“Japan can come tomorrow.” 

“Really?!” Italy lurched forward, selecting the face time option on the screen. 

“You couldn’t have asked first?” Germany asked dryly. 

Italy shrugged. “I get excited!” 

Japan came up on screen as Italy finished, wearing his reading glasses. “Hello,” 

“Hi, Japan!” Italy ripped the phone out of Germany’s hands, ignoring his noises of protest. “I can’t wait for you to come tomorrow!” 

Japan smiled. To anyone who didn’t know him that well, they would think he was completely serene. But Germany and Italy knew that this was Japan’s equivalent to vibrating with excitement. “I can’t wait to come. What are your plans?” 

“We’re going to visit Seborga! He said he missed you earlier this morning when he called!” 

Japan raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. We talked for maybe three minutes.” 

“Plenty of time for him, apparently.” Germany added, peering over Italy’s shoulder. “Hi, Japan.” 

“Hello, Germany.” Japan replied. “It looks like you’re outside!” 

Italy nodded, turning the camera around toward the colosseum. “We’re at the colosseum!” 

“I see... can you turn me around now?” 

Germany chuckled.

Italy laughed, turning him back around. “Sorry.” 

Japan smiled, shaking his head. “You’re okay. How are you feeling, Italy?” 

Italy rubbed the back of his head. “Much better. I talked it out with France, we’re good again!”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Japan said, looking relieved. “When he called the other day to check on you he sounded worried.” 

“Well it’s all cleared up!” 

Japan turned a questioning eye onto Germany. “And what about you, Germany?” 

Germany met the deep brown eyes, noting the extra layer of trepidation. Of worry. Of concern. Almost like something happened to him instead of Italy. Germany’s suspicions then clicked into place. Somehow, Japan knew about Holy Rome. Not just about how France had killed him, but that Germany once was Holy Rome. And perhaps even that Holy Rome and Italy had a mutual affection for each other. “Fine.” Germany could hear the confusion in his own voice. How did Japan know?

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Japan heard the tone of Germany’s voice. The two shared a look: _We’ll discuss it later._

Italy seemed to be picking up on the... whatever it was between them. “How are you doing, Japan? Is the boss working you too hard?” 

Japan snapped out of it and shrugged slightly. “Not really. Just a briefing on the unusual amount of foreigners coming to Kyoto. Nothing that couldn’t have been covered in an email.” Japan added the last part wryly.

“That’s the reason you went home?” Germany asked. 

Japan nodded. “Unfortunately. Even now my boss just has be doing busywork. If it weren’t for that meeting, I could have been there with you now. Well I’m sorry to say, but I have to go. It’s time for dinner over here. Then I’m going to pack, get a good night’s sleep, and make my way over there.” 

Italy jumped with excitement. “Awesome! You have your spare key, don’t you? That way if you get home before we do you can get in?” 

Japan’s eyes widened slightly. “You realize that I’m leaving tomorrow morning, right?” 

“Nonsense!” Italy shook his head. “Get over here as soon as possible! We can have a sleepover! Then you don’t have to get up early to come all the way over here! Just pack and get over here.” He turned to Germany. “We can be home for dinner, right? We can stop somewhere and get some food and bring it back for Japan!” 

Germany frowned, thinking about it. If they started making their way back to the car at four, they would have plenty of time to grab a bite on the way home. Assuming the International Road cooperated, they would be home before the food got cold. Having the details laid out in front of him grew Germany’s enthusiasm for the idea. It would be great to have the three of them together again, even if the last time they were around each other was only yesterday. “Ja, I think we can.” 

“What do you say, Japan?” Italy asked. 

Japan paused, considering. “I think I can do that. I will be over in a couple hours, but don’t hurry back so quickly. I know my way around your house well enough.” 

A thought struck Germany. “When you get there, my stuff is already in the guest room. Just ignore it and unpack. I can keep my stuff in a storage closet or something and sleep on the couch.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Germany, you can share a bed with me!” Italy protested. 

Germany gaped. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” 

“Why? We did it last night!” Italy asked, frowning. 

Hearing a slight laugh, Germany glared over at Japan.

“I hate to trouble you,” Japan added, looking at Germany in a way that could only be described as a challenge. “But I am much older and my hip has been giving me troubles. So I need a bed. And we’re going to be doing much traveling and walking. You cannot afford to get uncomfortable on the couch. So that may be the only option.” 

Germany narrowed his eyes as he saw that Japan was visibly smiling, the bastard. 

“Yeah, Germany! It would be really sad if the rest of us were having fun and you couldn’t because you were uncomfortable!” Italy agreed. 

Germany analyzed his options. Well, it wouldn’t be all that bad if they shared a bed again, right? As Italy said, they did last night. It wasn’t that big a deal. Besides, Germany knew that Japan’s hip usually gave him troubles. And after all, Germany was just doing the kind thing. Japan needed the bed, and Italy enjoyed sharing a bed. He was just being selfless... right? He let out a long sigh. “Fine.” 

Japan’s smile widened slightly. “Excellent. I will be over soon.” 

“Okay, see you soon, Japan! Bye!” Italy said. 

“Goodbye.” Japan replied. 

Germany waved before shutting off his phone. 

“This is wonderful! We can all go see Seborga together! I’ll let him know!” 

Germany held out his hand, a silent request for his phone. 

Italy turned it over, pulling his out of his pocket. “You can take a seat if you want, this may take a while.” 

“How long does it take to schedule a visit?” Germany asked, setting an alarm for when they would have to start heading back to Italy’s house.

“We’re Italian.” 

“... fair point.” Germany said. Italy replied with a laugh as he went to sit on a wooden bench. Germany pulled off his backpack, sticking his leg through one of the loops before setting it on the ground. He wasn’t going to have his stuff stolen. He pulled a book out of his bag as he heard Italy chattering in rapid Italian and got set to reading. Or he tried to read. His eyes just scanned down the pages, his mind wandering again to his past. With all the history that was surrounding him... has he seen this all as Holy Rome? Is this really his third time in the ancient city? He didn’t know how long it was before he felt a tap on his shoulder. Germany looked to his left, seeing Italy sitting there. 

“What are you reading about?” He asked. “You seem to be reading really hard!” 

Germany grunted. “It’s a book on American history.” 

“You’re reading a book about America?” Italy asked. 

“Not about him, exactly.” He said. “I wasn’t alive for much of the time he was developing, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.” 

“And you say you don’t have a soft spot for him.” Italy teased.  


Germany shot him a deadpan look. “I don’t.”  


“Why not just ask me about his history?” Italy asked as Germany bent over to grab his backpack. “I was there!”  


Germany peered up at him doubtfully. “Okay, when was the Declaration of Independence written?”  


Italy put his hand up to his chin, thinking as Germany stood and slung his backpack over his shoulders. “Umm... in in the 1760’s...?”  


“No. 1776.” Germany replied, shaking his head.  


Italy also stood. “Well I was only a decade off!”  


“Sixteen years.”  


“Eh, if you’re being particular about it.” Italy said. “Now come on! We’ve been here for a whole half hour and we haven’t even gone in the colosseum!” 

Germany followed as Italy led him to the entrance of the colosseum. 

After they used their I.D.s to get in, Germany was astounded at the crumbled building. It was crazy to think of just how much time had passed... just how long this had been here. How long ago this place was filled with hordes of people. They were on a viewing balcony with a metal guard rail. 

Italy was leaning against it, surveying the arena with an unusually contemplative look on his face. His forearms were resting on the metal bar, his hands clasped in front of him. He was abnormally still. 

Germany looked at him, musing that he never saw Italy like this very often. It was strange, but interesting to observe him being this calm. “What are you thinking about?” 

Italy looked over his shoulder at him briefly before returning his gaze to the arena. “The last time I came here I was with Grandpa Rome. There was a show going on. It was a wild animal hunt. They brought in several lions. It just looks so different.” 

Germany also leaned on the bar, listening. 

“There were so many people, Germany, you should have seen it. People packed elbow to elbow. The emperor’s box draped in velvet. The roaring crowds, the suspense... it was such a great bonding moment between Grandpa and I.” He looked at Germany. “But with this great beauty came a great wretchedness.” 

Germany drew his eyebrows together. 

Italy looked back over the arena and unclasped his hands. “When I was a little older, I understood what a terrible place the colosseum really is. I understood that what started as a sport killing dangerous animals ended as the persecution of people. The same dirt that puddles of animal blood sat on soaked up the blood of people. Of human beings, baking into the earth under the sun. It’s hard to look back on history, Germany. Whether you’re human or not. But it’s essential. You may regret your past.” He looked at Germany, his eyes filled with a harsh understanding. “But knowing what happened, and regretting it as fiercely as we do... it keeps us from making those mistakes again. They helped make us into the people we are now. I feel like you need to remember that sometimes.” 

“... This is very sudden.” Was all Germany could say. 

Italy nodded and gazed around again. “I know. But everything that France said just got me thinking, and... it got me thinking about us. You, me, and Japan. But you especially. I see you thinking about it every now and then. I see you about to say things sometimes at world meetings... probably to reference your past. But then you hold your tongue. I just sometimes think that you need to let that go. It’s not all your fault.”

Germany held his gaze on the side profile of Italy for a moment longer, musing that perhaps Italy was more observant- and more wise – than Germany gave him credit for. His eyes wandered around the decrepit colosseum as he pondered on what Italy had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Germany with Hanahaki disease for a fic: Yay, or nay?


	9. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy continue their trip through Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice, long chapter since I didn't update on time. Sorry, guys. XD

They left the colosseum, Italy leading the way as he chattered. “Are you feeling hungry, Germany? I’m feeling hungry. I wonder where we should go! There’s so many places we could go, too. And so much food to eat!” 

Germany simply nodded, letting Italy continue. 

“If you want somewhere nice, I know a great place to sit down. But we’re not really dressed for nice places, are we? Let’s try something new! Something unique! What do you say?” 

Germany grunted. “Sounds good.” 

“Great! There’s a place we can go – we’ll have to drive, but still – It’s only a few minutes’ drive, and it’s a park! There’s lots of food vendors and stuff!” 

“How much is a few minutes?”

Italy hummed. “Around twenty, I think...” 

Germany pulled out his phone and opened his map app. “Nineteen minutes.” He clicked around for a moment later, looking up the various attractions they hoped to see. 

“Excellent! That’s a short drive, and then we can look at everything else we wanted to see!” 

Germany hummed. “Excellent unless you consider the fact that everything we want to see is within ten minutes’ walking distance.” He slid his phone back in his pocket, facing Italy. “We may have to have a late lunch.” 

Italy perked up. “Oh, that’s okay! I know a great little shop with delicious pastries! We could have a snack!” 

“There’s no need.” Germany said, sliding his backpack off his shoulders and unzipping it. “I brought snacks so we could save money.” 

Italy slumped a little. “Really? But the food here is so good!” 

“Oranges are good, too.” Germany protested, pulling one out. “I also have protein bars, trail mix, baby carr-” 

“Ugh!” Italy interrupted, tilting his head back. “I can’t believe you packed protein bars!” 

“They’re practical!” Said Germany.

“But so boring!” Italy took the orange out of Germany's hand and set it back in the bag. “Why eat oranges when we could have _Pandoro! Canoli!_ There’s even a place that makes _Ricciarelli_ year-round, Germany. _Ricciarelli!_ I haven’t had it since last Christmas, and it’s right around the corner!”

“Christmas is next month. Can’t you have one then?” Germany pointed out. Despite this, however, he zipped up his bag and slung it on his shoulders. “But if you insist-” The things Italy could convince him to do…

“Oh, I do! Thank you, Germany!” Italy sprung forward and wrapped Germany in a hug. 

Germany stiffened. “Sure. but after this we’re eating the food I brought.” 

Italy released Germany, still smiling as he took his hand and pulled him along. “That’s fine, the _Ricciarelli_ place is right up here!” 

Germany resigned himself, jogging to keep up with Italy as they turned the corner. 

Italy pointed at a brown and tan striped awning. “That one!” They stopped and entered the shop, the smell of delicious baked goods hitting them like a wall. Italy took a long, deep sniff. “Mm…”  
The shop was small and cozy, with a two glass cases on either side of a bored-looking employee sitting behind a cash register. The lighting was slightly dim, and the rays from a few windows bathed the round tables and chairs in a warm, golden light. All in all, a cute pastry shop. 

Germany sniffed as well, relenting that Italy probably made the right decision in turning down his protein bars. 

Italy flounced right up to the employee, Germany following. _“Can I please have a Ricciarelli with a cappuccino?”_ Italy asked in Italian.

The bored looking teenage boy nodded. _“Yes.”_ He looked expectantly up at Germany. 

Germany glanced at Italy, unsure of what to say. 

“Just try.” Italy said. “I’ll translate for you if you need.” 

“I know hardly any Italian.” Germany protested quietly. 

Italy shrugged. “Still Italian!” 

“Uhh…” Germany straightened, beginning to speak in his heavily accented Italian. " _Please..._ what were those called again?” 

_“Ricciarelli.”_

_“Ricciarelli.”_ Germany finished, cringeing slightly as he botched the ‘r’s. 

The boy nodded again, punching the price into the cash register. _“What else?”_

“What did he say?” Germany muttered to Italy. 

“He asked if there was anything else we wanted.” Italy answered. 

“Ask him for a plain, black coffee, please. I don’t know how.” Germany requested. 

Italy smiled at him. “Sure!” He turned to the employee. _“Can I please have a canoli, a zeppole, two Baicoli, a caprese cake, and a black coffee?"_

Germany frowned, thinking that it was taking Italy an awfully long time to order a coffee. His suspicions were confirmed, however, as the price was rung up. “You didn’t just order a coffee.” 

“Of course not!” Italy agreed, pulling euro out of his fanny pack. “The food here is incredible!” 

Germany looked at the bills in Italy’s hand. “Here, we can split the pay.” 

Italy grabbed Germany’s hand as it started for his wallet. “No, no! You’re a guest!” Before Germany could protest, Italy handed over the bills to the cashier. 

Germany resolved to sneak the money to Italy later. "Thank you." 

Italy went and took a seat at the nearest table, sitting with his back to the sun. He hummed with satisfaction as it warmed his back. 

Germany watched with a small smile, snapping out of it when the employee tapped him on the shoulder and offered him a small cup of black coffee. “Thank- Uh… _Grazie._ ” He said, accepting it. 

The employee nodded, turning to gather the assorted pastries as Germany joined Italy at the table. 

After they’d eaten their way through far too many desserts, they were back on the streets. “What all did you want to see, Italy?” Germany asked. 

“Hmm...” He stopped in the shade of a tree. “I wanted to see the Sistine Chapel, the Pantheon... I think that’s it.” 

Germany pulled out his phone and tapped around for a moment, on a quest to find how far away they were. “We may want to find the car and drive there. It’s quite a long walk.” 

Italy hummed. “That’s okay, I would love to go on a drive!” 

“As long as you don’t plan on singing...” Germany agreed. 

“What are you talking about? I have a lovely singing voice!” Italy protested, the pair walking alongside each other back to the car. 

“Not when you’re screaming along to the songs.” 

Italy laughed. “Well I have to agree to that.” There was a slight pause as he appeared to be thinking. “You have a lovely singing voice too, Germany!” 

“This again?” Germany frowned at him. “You’ve never even heard it!” 

“Of course I have!” Italy argued, now swinging his arms as he walked. “Sometimes when you come over and you think I’m sleeping or too focused on my painting, you sing or hum quietly to yourself! Most of your songs are in German, so I can’t understand, but it’s still pretty...” 

Germany felt an intense blush rise on his cheeks. He supposed that singing to yourself was something that everyone did occasionally, but he still didn't want people to hear. “If I had known you were listening...” 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of!” Italy said, grinning. “There’s nothing wrong with having a pretty singing voice! Like have you ever heard America’s? Or France’s?” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. "They sing well?" 

Italy nodded. "They're some of the best singers I know!" 

"How do you know this?" 

“Well if _someone_ didn’t stay home from karaoke night every year, you would know it too! Even Prussia goes!” 

Germany looked ahead, turning into the street where his car was parked. “What did he sing?” 

“Well, last year was _Fergalicious_.” Italy answered, chuckling. 

Germany rolled his eyes. “ _Mein Gott._ How embarrassing. That must have been entertaining, though... when’s the next karaoke night?” 

“Umm... next month, first weekend, I think.” Italy gasped, rounding the front of the car to his door. “Does that mean you’re going?!” 

“I’m not committing to anything yet. Possibly.” Germany answered. 

Italy buckled in. “You sound like Japan.” 

“I suppose I do, don’t I?” Germany “Does he go?” 

“No.” Italy shook his head. “I mostly hang out with Romano and Spain. Sometimes Ms. Hungary.” 

Germany pulled out into the street, considering the proposition. “Hmm... is singing mandatory?” 

“Of course not! It’s very relaxed.” Italy answered, plugging the AUX chord in his phone. “Any requests?” 

Germany shook his head. “You can control the music.” 

The two drove in relative silence, enjoying the music and warm weather. Germany was about five minutes’ driving time away from the pantheon when Italy gasped. 

“Germany, stop!” He sounded harried. Panicked, even. 

“What? Why?” Germany asked urgently, already pulling over to the side of the street. 

“You have to pull over now! Quick! Please!” 

Germany pulled into a clumsy parallel park, facing Italy. “What? What is it? Are you okay?” 

Italy smiled and pointed across Germany. “Look!” 

Germany followed his finger. “What?” 

“That building! There’s something really cool in there!” 

“What could possibly be so important as to panic me into parking here?” 

“A mask!” 

“A mask?” 

“It’s a really cool mask!”

Germany blinked, processing what just happened. “You made me park suddenly in Rome's traffic. You scared me while I was driving. You impeded our progress and ruined our schedule. You panicked me into thinking you were hurt or in danger. All that for a mask?!”

“It’s a magic mask, though!” Italy protested. 

Germany’s forehead fell to the steering wheel with a loud thunk. “Oh, a magic mask. Perfect. Well that fixes everything.” He looked over to Italy, still hunching his shoulders. “And I assume I need to see this mask right now?” 

“You’re mad at me.” Italy realized, his excitement fading. 

“Very astute observation.” Germany replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t do that to me while I’m driving. Okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry, Germany.” 

Germany sighed, straightening and pushing himself against his seat. “It’s okay... do you really want to see this mask?” 

“Yes please!” 

Germany unbuckled. “Fine. But only for a little.” 

“Yay! Thank you, Germany!” Hardly a second had passed before he had risen out of his seat and waiting outside of the car. 

Germany left the car, waiting for the traffic to clear before crossing the street. “What’s so special about this mask, anyway?” 

“Well, it’s magic.” 

“I remember.” Germany stepped onto the opposite sidewalk. “I mean what’s the magic?” 

Italy hummed as they started toward the building. “There is an old legend.” 

“There’s an old legend with everything in Italy.” Germany observed, looking around. “You couldn’t throw a rock around here without it landing on something with an intense history.” 

“Not here in Rome.” Italy agreed, laughing. “But this one is interesting!” They turned into the building. 

“Well while we’re walking to this mask, tell me this legend.” 

“Ooh! Good idea!” Italy quipped. “Well, back a long, long time ago... no one knows exactly when... there was a woman who was unfaithful to her husband. When he found out, he called a crowd of people and took his wife over here to see a mask to resolve the issue.” 

“A crowd of people?” Germany asked as they walked through the twisting hallways. “To witness their private business?”

Italy nodded. 

“Sounds like a decent fellow.” 

“Right? So anyway, they were sitting in front of this mask. It was gigantic! A river god with an open mouth. Everyone knew what made this mask so special. If a liar stuck their hand in its mouth, it would bite it clean off!” 

“Oh, so the woman stuck her hand in the mask’s mouth, then it got bitten off, then she was shunned for her crimes.” Germany finished, fully confident that he had figured out the rest of the story. 

Italy frowned, mouth agape. “What?! No, that’s so grim! What happened was that the woman had a plan. She knew this would happen! Her lover came and kissed her in front of everybody, she pretended to be shocked, and he ran right off. When she was finally asked the question if she cheated, she answered: “The only men I have ever kissed was my husband, and that bastard that kissed me now.” 

Germany smirked. “And that’s a direct quote?” 

“Not exactly.” Italy admitted sheepishly. “But anyway, then the lover was hunted down and brutally killed. And that’s the end of the story!” 

“And _my_ version was grim?” Germany asked. 

Italy stopped, and so did he. They were standing in a short line of about ten people, leading to a stone face slightly taller than Italy carved into the wall. 

“That’s a mask?” Germany asked. 

Italy shrugged. “I suppose so,” 

They waited patiently in line, the two of them watching a group of teenagers as they took turns asking each other questions in Italian. Italy giggled at a couple of them, not bothering to translate them. Not that Germany minded. 

When it was finally their turn, Italy pushed Germany forward, holding his phone up. “Okay, you go first!” 

Germany looked back, noting that there was no line behind them. Good. He wasn’t sure he wanted them to hear whatever Italy had to say. “Okay....” He stuck his hand in the mask, not letting his hand touch the stone. 

“Okay. Do you have a soft spot for America?” Italy asked, giggling. 

“No.” Germany answered. 

Italy paused, staring at the mask. “... huh. No hand-biting, I guess you’re right!” 

“Of course I am.” 

“Okay, okay, a couple more! Umm... Do you have a diary?” 

“No.” Germany said. a slight blush dusted the tips of his ears. 

Italy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need a stone mask to tell that you’re lying, Germany.” 

Germany sighed. “Okay, yes! It’s a habit I picked up from Prussia. There's nothing wrong with a diary. It is a good way to keep track of business affairs. Happy?” 

Italy laughed. “Your reaction is funnier than the answer!” 

“Are we done now?” 

“No, no, one last question.” Italy lowered his camera as his smile fell. “Are you... mad that I didn’t tell you about Holy Rome before?” 

Germany blinked. He had almost forgotten about it until Italy mentioned it. “Of course not.” Germany said, surprised at the softness of his own voice. “I never was.” 

Italy gave him a small smile, which Germany returned. Italy lifted his phone again after the brief pause. “Okay, those are all my questions!” 

Germany raised an eyebrow, recognizing that Italy was trying to act as if the moment hadn’t even happened. “Finally.” He replied jokingly. The two passed each other as Italy went over to the stone statue. Before he could think of what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around Italy in a hug. He didn’t know why. If anyone asked him, he would say he was rather uncomprehending of emotion and reading the atmosphere. He wasn’t the first person you would go to for reassurance of any kind. And yet... he knew that this was the best thing to do for Italy at that moment. It was stiff and awkward. It almost felt unnatural. But Germany felt that he was doing the right thing. 

Italy appeared to be frozen for a moment, shocked by this sudden display of affection. He quickly recovered, however, his hands desperately gripping the back of Germany’s T-shirt as he buried his head in his collarbone. 

They stood like that for a couple more seconds before Germany released his friend. “Okay, you can’t put it off any longer. Get your hand in that statue.” 

Italy stepped back and looked up at Germany, his lips pulling into a close-mouthed smile of thanks. 

Germany found himself returning it as Italy stepped forward and stuck his hand in the mask, an arm’s length away from Germany as he waited. At the last minute, he remembered to start his phone’s video and turned it to Germany.

“Okay!” 

Germany smiled to himself as he was struck with a devious idea. “Do you really think that fanny pack isn’t ugly?” 

Still looking at Germany, Italy smiled. “Nope!” 

“No,” Germany shook his head. “You need to look the mask in the eyes and answer. Most evidence of dishonesty is in the eyes.” 

Italy raised an eyebrow, lowering his camera. “Really?” 

“Yes.” Germany had no idea. “Look at the statue.” 

Italy shrugged. “If it’s that important to you.” He raised the phone again, this time directed at the statue.

“Do you think your fanny pack is ugly?” As Germany talked, he took a silent half-step forward and raised his arms to Italy’s height.

“No.” Italy answered somewhat solemnly. 

In the moment of silence that proceeded afterword, Germany brought his arms down onto Italy’s shoulders. “Ah!” 

Italy yelped and nearly jumped out of his skin, dropping his phone and fumbling around with it before barely catching it. “Germany!” he barked. “You scared me half to death!” 

But Germany wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing. Full-bellied, gut-wrenching laughter. God, that was excellent! Even better than he had hoped!

Italy soon joined in, laughing along with him. 

Germany straightened as he laughed, putting his palm to his forehead. After a couple more chuckles, the laughter subsided. Then, just as he remembered the little scream Italy did and the fumble that followed, it came back. “Oh, that noise you made.” He said after he had relaxed a little. 

“That was a cheap trick, Germany!” Italy said. 

“Perhaps.” Germany conceded, still smiling. “But it was impossible to resist. You scare far too easily.” 

“Okay, okay.” Italy relented. “That’s fair, I guess.” 

“Thank you for your approval.” Germany teased. “Come on. If we want to be home with food for Japan, we have to see the Pantheon.” 

“The Pantheon!” Italy skipped ahead. “I love it there! Oh, Germany, it’s so pretty!” 

Germany followed Italy out to the car, listening to Italy’s ramblings about the pantheon and how lovely it is, how the columns are all so large, how it’s so clean, how it looks so beautiful on a sunny day, and how lucky are we that it’s such a lovely day, Germany? By the time they finally made it out to the car, it was a little after two in the afternoon. Germany realized this as he turned on the car and looked at the car radio, cringeing. “We’re cutting it close for sure.” 

Italy grimaced. “Ooh.” 

As they pulled out, Germany hummed. “We may only have time for one thing: Pantheon, or Sistine Chapel?”

“Pantheon.” Italy answered. “No hesitation!” 

They were driving to the pantheon, Italy humming along to the music as they drove the last ten minutes of the drive. As they passed the buildings, Germany hazarded quick glances out the window. It was so beautiful here, even in the city. Rome was a collision of all that was old, and all that was new. It was beautiful in a way that transcended history. Germany peered over at Italy, who was tapping his finger on the left armrest, his honey gold eyes half-closed and observing their surroundings. 

As he faced frontward again, he realized that he was smiling to himself. He wondered what Italy was thinking. His mind flashed back to the giant mask. When his hand was inside and Italy asked if Germany was mad at him for not telling him about Holy Rome. He remembered Italy’s look of vulnerability and nervousness. Germany was brought back to the present, wondering how long Italy had been sitting on that question. If he still had doubts. Furrowing his brows, Germany resolved to be a little more open. To perhaps be nicer to Italy. Maybe let him know through his actions that all was forgiven. That he was never mad in the first place. The GPS shocked him out of his thoughts, announcing their arrival. 

“We’re here, we’re here!” Italy cheered, sitting forward in his seat. 

“Wait, we have to find parking first.” Germany said. 

Italy groaned. “We always do!” he gasped. “Germany! Maybe we could take bikes next time!” 

For just a moment, Germany’s heart accelerated. Did that count as an invitation to do this again? For them to take another vacation together? “You would enjoy perhaps the first ten minutes. Then you would complain that we should have brought a car.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Italy laughed. “You know me too well, Germany.” 

Germany spotted an empty spot on the side of the road and effortlessly slid into it. “Ja. It’s almost like we’ve been friends for 100 years.” He unbuckled. 

Italy’s eyes widened as he too unbuckled. “Only 100 years? That’s so short!” 

Germany opened the door, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders. He pulled the sunglasses off his face, noticing that the sun wasn’t as bright in the late afternoon. “I forget that a century is short to many nations...” 

“Yeah, you’re so young!” Italy laughed, waiting on the sidewalk. “You’re practically a baby!"

Germany glared as he rounded the car. “And yet here I am, taking care of you.” 

“And you do such a good job of it!” Italy laughed, latching onto Germany’s arm. “I’m glad you took those sunglasses off, you don’t look as scary now.” 

The two started walking, enjoying the sights and weather. Germany observed that the buildings here were more crowded together. There were less shops and more apartments. The buildings were brightly colored, painted in oranges, tans, and the occasional pale pastel blue.

“Germany, Germany!” Italy said suddenly, sounding extremely excited. 

Germany looked over, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?” 

“You’ve been my friend for over half your life!” 

Germany looked ahead, taken aback. He’d never though of it like that. “I... suppose so.” 

“Yeah! You were in your 60’s when you found me!” 

“Mein Gott. It’s hard to believe.” 

“Right?! It feels like so long ago!” 

They lapsed into quiet again, Germany frowning. “Italy, I can’t believe I’ve never asked this, but... how old are you, exactly?” 

“Hmm...” Italy brought a hand to his chin. “Well... I don’t remember exactly which year I was born, but... I remember it was around 700 B.C.” 

Germany stopped outright. “Wait, what?” 

Italy rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m a bit of an old geezer, aren’t I?” 

“’Old Geezer’? You’re around 2,600 years old!” Germany exclaimed. 

Italy pulled him along. “Yes, I suppose so. Time is really weird, huh?”

“You could be my grandfather!” Germany continued. 

Italy frowned. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He smiled. “I’m old, but I’m not ancient!” 

Germany shook his head, dumbfounded. “You made America look like a toddler.” 

“And you look like a baby! You understand, now?” 

“I wish I didn’t, but yes.”

They turned the corner, and there was the pantheon. It rested in the middle of what looked like a giant cul-de-sak of grey brick road, surrounded by modern apartment buildings in assorted pastel colors. There was a small crowd milling about the area, but it was relatively empty. Perched in front of the Pantheon, a statue fish squirted water out of its mouth into the fountain. The pantheon was a large, rectangular building with a triangular roof, the front supported by large stone columns. On the front was some Latin that Germany was unable to understand. Bathed in the golden sun, it was almost as if they had travelled back in time and was standing in front of a new pantheon. Given how well it had stayed together over the years, it was easy to slip into that frame of mind. 

Leaping with excitement, Italy pulled Germany forward in a jog. “Come on!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeezus. We're halfway done already. XD


	10. Mario Kart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany and Italy have an... interesting interaction. Japan, realizing his friends are useless, knows something is up.

They jogged up to the Pantheon, Germany slowing as he came closer to the majestic front. 

“What does that say?” He asked. 

Italy followed his gaze. “Hmm? Oh! It says: ‘Marcus Agrippa, son of Lucius, Consul for the first time built this’. It’s not true, though.” 

“Why do you say that?” The two climbed the steps side-by-side. 

“Well, the very first temple to the Gods was burned a while before this pantheon. The builder of that temple died a long time ago. So when this one was built, the text from the original pantheon was put on this one to honor Marcus Agrippa.” 

They passed through the giant bronze gates, Germany musing that the attraction was a feat of remarkable architecture. The air inside the building was slightly cooler than that of the air outside. Not air conditioned, of course, but a combination of the cool stone walls, tiled floor, and shade from the sun made the room relaxing to step into. Germany was glad for the shade. He was desperately hoping that he hadn't burned at all in the hot sun.

His thoughts were whisked away from him when the short hallway opened up to the giant domed room. The room was impossibly large and impossibly empty. Larger even than he had originally anticipated. Everything in the room was beautiful. The floor was pure marble, the different colors cut into perfect squares and inlaid in the ground, the shades of the marble shocking against the white tiles. Around them were columns holding up the doorways and a long, golden ridge that encircled the room. Above the golden ridge were squares. Ones of tan were dispersed between cubes cut into the wall, framed by detailed scrolling marble. Another golden ridge above was framing them. 

The entire space was too much to process, Germany’s eyes darting to search for a new detail as soon as he was able to spot one. His attention was soon focused on the dome, however. Squares were cut into the dome, bending with the curvature of the roof as it rose up, encasing the room in an almost dizzying array of detail. Entirely unsupported. Germany hadn’t even realized he had walked to the middle of the room until he found himself bathed in the golden light shining from the hole in the top of the ceiling. He looked up briefly before returning his gaze to the wall, circling as he took in the details. His mouth agape, it split into a slight smile as he marveled at the beauty of the building. An entirely unsupported dome this big... an architectural marvel back then, but no less of one in present time. As he finished his circle, he found it within himself to speak. 

“Italy... this is...” He stopped as his eyes stopped on Italy. 

Italy was staring at him, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes filled with some unnameable emotion. 

Germany was entranced by Italy’s gaze, astounded by the intensity behind it. His thoughts quietened as he returned it. 

Slowly, Italy stepped forward. It seemed like there was an eternity between the time Italy left his spot, and the time it took for him to near Germany. But the entire time, they held their gaze. Anything could have happened in that span of time. Someone could have entered the room. Someone could shout. The building could collapse around them. But their focuses were entirely on each other. Alone, in an empty piece of history. Italy was about two feet in front of him now, his gait slowing as he was two feet away. He finally stopped as they were toe to toe. Germany’s heart was pounding furiously as he felt Italy’s graceful, slim fingers graze his arm and slip slowly down. Automatically, the two of them leaned forward. He wasn't thinking. He couldn't find it within himself to think. All there was was the two of them. Germany felt Italy’s fingers close on his wrist. He angled his head. Italy was so close. Their eyes were almost closed- 

A blaring siren echoed around the atrium, the domed ceiling amplifying the sound. 

Startled, the two leapt apart. 

Germany’s mind reeled. Was that a hurricane warning or something? Perhaps a storm? A fire engine? Then, his heart stopped as he remembered setting that alarm earlier that afternoon after the colosseum. _“Scheiße.”_ He muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and silencing the alert. He stared down at his phone a moment longer before he raised his phone screen to Italy, looking at the floor. He could feel his face, neck, and ears heat up with what was likely an intense blush. He refused to make eye contact out of embarrassment. What just happened? “We- we should head back to the car.” 

Germany heard the echo of voices as a group of people entered the Pantheon. A group of people who had no idea what had just transpired. Who couldn’t feel the tense air of... whatever was in this room. Not waiting for an answer from Italy, he brushed past him and left the building. He had to get out of there. He needed- he needed a moment to collect himself. He needed to walk back to the car and drive with the windows down. Let the rushing of the wind silence the thoughts in his head. Or perhaps encourage them. He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. By the time he was down the steps, he felt Italy’s presence next to him. 

The walk back to the car didn’t have amiable chatter like many that day had. There wasn’t even that comfortable silence that people often had when walking next to each other. All there was was empty silence. A question of: _what the hell just happened_ Hanging on both of their tongues but refusing to come out. The walk led to the car, which led to driving back down the very streets they had driven on to get into the city. The windows were down, but Italy hadn’t been bold enough to plug the AUX chord in his phone, so Germany just turned on the radio. The songs were dispersed with radio ads he couldn’t understand. 

In his periphery, Germany saw Italy’s tan hand dial back the volume on the radio. For a moment, he was concerned that Italy would try and talk about... whatever had taken place. Germany’s thoughts hadn’t even began to sort themselves out enough for him to understand, let alone discuss.

“There’s a place up here where we can get food for Japan.” Italy said, his voice unusually level. 

Germany couldn’t bring himself to look at Italy still. “The one with the tables over there?” There was a pause in which Germany was sure Italy nodded. 

“Yes. The one with the green umbrellas.” 

Germany slid into a parking spot. “Why don’t you go in and get the food, and I’ll wait out here in the car?” There was a period of silence when Germany was certain Italy was going to protest. 

“Okay. I’ll be out soon, Germany.” 

Germany nodded. He heard the car door open then close. He waited a moment during which he was sure Italy had disappeared in the restaurant. With a pathetic grunt, he let his forehead fall against the steering wheel. The horn blared, but that didn’t stop him from letting his head hit the horn once, twice, three times. He sat up again. If only he hadn’t set that damned alarm... What would have happened then, though? They would have kissed, probably. But then what? Would they be in a relationship, or would Italy say that it was a mistake, or- or maybe he was trying to see if kissing him would spark memories of Holy Rome. He shook his head. No... Italy could never be that cruel. Not after all he did to protect Germany from his past. _Fine, then._ His subconscious sneered. _He probably thinks it was a mistake._ His glare loosened into a worried frown. Was it? Because Germany knew he hadn’t gone into it with anything other than pure... affection. But what could be said of Italy? He could often get swept away in his emotions and desires. Maybe it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. Maybe-

The door opening startled him out of his reverie. He stared forward as Italy ducked into the car, setting the bags of fragrant food in the backseat. 

Germany pulled into the street as Italy buckled his seatbelt. He didn’t think he could stand any more silence. “Do you want to turn on some music?” He asked. 

Italy looked over, unabashedly studying him. “Do you want to choose?” 

Germany shook his head. “No.” 

Silence prevailed as Germany rolled up the windows and Italy scrolled through his music. Perhaps it started, perhaps it didn’t. Germany was unaware of anything except his thoughts, and the road ahead of him. Prussia said before that Germany could draw himself within his own mind, focusing all his attention on solving problems or getting work done. Or, in this case, sorting his emotions out. It seemed like an eternity had passed by the time they pulled into Italy’s driveway. Japan’s sleek silver car was already sitting there. 

“I wonder how long he’s been here.” Italy said. 

Germany grunted. 

“Maybe he won’t even be hungry...” 

Germany pulled into a park. “I can help you carry those in.” 

“Okay.” 

Germany continued to avoid eye contact as he reached in the back and grabbed all the bags. He continued to avoid Italy’s surprised look as Italy noticed there were no bags left for him to carry. He especially refused to notice how close the two were to each other as they climbed the steps up to his house. The door was unlocked, so Italy opened the door for Germany. He brushed past Italy, thumping through the hallway in his boots and setting the groceries on the counter. “Japan?” He called. He heard stirring on the couch and looked over to see Japan sit up. 

Japan peered over the back of the couch at Germany. “Oh, Germany. Hello. Sorry I didn’t greet you, I seem to have fallen asleep on the sofa.” 

“Hi, Japan!” Italy greeted. To anyone who didn’t know him as well as Germany and Japan did, they would say that Italy was his usual peppy self. But Germany and Japan knew Italy, and they knew that something was wrong. The only difference was that Germany knew the reason why. 

Though Japan had a concerned frown on his face momentarily, he wiped it off to bow to Italy. “Hello, Italy.” 

Italy returned the bow, smiling. “What time did you get here?” 

“I got here a few hours after our video chat.” 

“Oh, good! So you haven’t been here long! Are you hungry?” 

Japan nodded. “After my nap, I am.” 

“Great! We brought back lots of good food!” 

The three of them sat down at the table after Germany quickly set the table, passing the takeout containers between the three of them. Germany noticed the distinctly stiff, awkward atmosphere at the table. He tried to think of something to say. 

“This is good.” Really? ‘This is good’? 

Italy nodded. “It’s from one of my favorite restaurants.” 

Silence prevailed again. 

Japan glanced between them through his glasses, obviously trying to discern what was going on. Eventually, he appeared to have decided to try and get more clues. “So, where did you go today?” 

“Well we went to the colosseum, as you could see!” Italy said, brightening slightly. “Afterword, I was super hungry! But I didn’t want any of Germany’s disgusting protein bars.” 

“They’re not disgusting, they’re healthy.” Germany protested, looking at Italy for the first time that evening. It was a short, quick glance. But it was eye contact nonetheless.

Italy shrugged with manufactured ease. “There’s no difference, really.” 

“Because Italy’s so picky, we went to a nearby cafe. He ordered six desserts. Seven, if you count mine.” 

Japan nodded, seemingly unsurprised. “He did that when the two of us went on vacation, too. And he refused to let you pay?” 

“Of course.” 

Italy leaned against his hand. “But weren’t they delicious?” 

Germany returned his gaze. “ _Ja_ , they were.” 

Italy straightened. “See? It was worth it!” 

Germany smiled. For a moment, everything almost seemed normal. 

The food on their plates slowly disappeared as Japan heard about the rest of their day. By the time they were done, everyone was equally stuffed. Germany could have gone for a nap. Far too much happened today. Far too many emotions and serious talks. What was up with those these past couple days? Hardly an hour could pass without some sappy heartfelt moment. 

Italy, however, looked as energetic as ever. “Do you guys want to play a video game?” 

Germany’s immediate answer was a ‘no’, but Japan straightened up slightly. 

“That sounds fun,” was his only answer. 

“Great! I have a Wii!” Italy said, clamoring out of his seat and scampering to the living room. 

“You go join him. I’ll clean up from dinner.” Germany offered. 

Japan raised an eyebrow. “You want to avoid video games that much?” 

Germany nodded. “Are you surprised?” 

“Not at all.” Japan answered with a slight smile. “Thank you, Germany.” 

Germany nodded, standing and collecting plates. 

Japan left his seat, taking a couple steps toward the living room before doing a half-turn. “Oh, and Germany?” 

“Hmm?” Germany looked up. 

“Can we talk later?” 

“... Okay.” 

Japan nodded and left. 

Germany furrowed his brow. He wondered how much they were going to talk about. Whether it would be about Holy Rome or him and Italy... perhaps both. Either way, both options terrified him. He finished cleaning, his head occupied with so many thoughts that he felt like he would burst. He was about to start washing the dishes when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Quizzically, he pulled it out of his pocket. A text from his brother. Prussia never texted. He always preferred to call. He opened the text, frowning as he read. 

_Have you seen Italy’s latest Instagram post_

Germany was about to reply ‘no’ when another text came through. 

_Cause....... youll see i guess_

Before Germany could even decipher what that meant, he got a notification from Instagram. News that Italy had tagged him in a post. Fearing the worst, he opened the notification.   
He could see that it was a series of photos, the first being an aesthetic shot down an Italian street filled with buildings of multiple colors. He swiped to the next photos, seeing a few of pretty flowers they had passed on the street. The next was of their table at the cafe, laden with delicious and lovely desserts. Germany stopped as he saw a side profile photo of him from when he was reading on the bench. He blushed slightly as he saw this, but was otherwise unbothered. It was just a photo. What followed was a photo of the great stone mask with Italy’s hand inside. Germany smiled to himself as he remembered how he scared Italy. His smile was wiped off his face, however, as he was confronted with a photo of himself. 

To clarify, it was a photo of him... laughing. The photo was taken as Germany was straightening up, his shoulders raised slightly with his laughter. The heat had caused a couple strands of hair to come unstuck from the gel, hanging down from his hairline. His mouth was split open mid-laugh, and his eyes were shut. So that’s why he hadn’t noticed Italy taking a photo. He stared at himself quizzically. So this was what he looked like laughing. Ugh. His face blotched red as he remembered it was on Instagram. The photo was on Instagram! Germany scrolled up to the top to see how many followers Italy had. He shook his head as the panic mounted. Italy had consistently been one of the top Instagrammers for months now, his profile filled with aesthetic pictures and photos of food. Most of his followers were there, though, for the occasional photo he posted when he was dressed in a nice outfit. 

Frantically, Germany scrolled back down to the photos. He blanched at the amount of likes. There were thousands... He looked down at the photo’s description: _When in Rome..._ Seeing the top comments, he knew it was already too late to have Italy delete the photos. A strange requirement of nations was that they had to follow each others’ social media pages and have notifications on for them. Their bosses figured it was a good way not only to connect with their people, but to connect with each other and encourage diplomacy. And he saw that the other nations’ comments and likes were already there.

_Official_USA: Whoa, dude! It’s good to see you guys having a good time!_

_HungarysInstagram: You have a lovely smile, Germany!_ 😊

Under Hungary’s comment, there was a long thread of 69 comments, talking about various things from how nice Germany’s smile was, to how he looked less scary when he was laughing, to a couple... weird ones. Germany cringed and shook his head. It struck him dumb that there were fangirls who were attracted to goddamn countries. 

_Prussias_Not_Ded: Have a fun time broha_

The rest of the comments were from Italy’s followers, talking about how lovely the photos were, complaining that there weren’t any photos of Italy there, the regular sort of mixture. Germany turned off his phone, sliding it back in his pocket. “Italy!” He barked. 

“Uh-oh.” Japan muttered from the couch. “I told you he would be mad.” 

Italy half-turned, his picture the face of innocence. “Yes, Germany?” 

“Why did you upload that picture?!” 

Italy rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I suppose food pictures are cliche, but the cafe had nice lighting and-” 

“You know what photo I’m talking about, Italy! The one where I was laughing!” 

“Oh, that!” Italy acted as if he just realized. 

Japan sent Italy a level look, clearly not taking any of his shit. 

Germany raised an eyebrow of exasperation, waiting for whatever half-baked excuse Italy had. 

“I thought you looked nice in it!” 

Okay, Germany wasn’t expecting complete honesty.

“I can take it down if you want, though.” 

Germany sighed, brushing a hand over his slicked-back hair. “The damage is already done. It would just be embarrassing if you took it down now.” 

“Good! It’s a pretty picture.” Italy said. 

Much to his dismay, Germany could feel his damned blush coming back. If he had a deutschmark for every time he had blushed these past couple days... he couldn’t imagine how many cats he could get from Arby’s. 

“Anyway, people think you’re scary sometimes!” Italy forged on, apparently not noticing. “I did too when I first met you, you know!” 

Japan nodded in agreement. “That is part of Germany’s reputation. You must remember, Germany. We have to be approachable, but respectable. To promote tourism and goodwill between nations. And you haven’t posted on your social media for weeks.” 

Germany frowned, rounding the couch and sitting down. “I don’t feel the need to post. Surely people aren’t that interested in what I’m doing.” 

Japan shook his head, pulling out his phone. “That isn’t exactly true, Germany.” He scrolled down, his glasses reflecting the photos passing on his screen. “You have ninety million followers, after all.” 

Germany gave a half-shrug. “I just don’t understand it. What I do isn’t anyone else’s business.” 

“But Germany, your people want to hear from you!” Italy protested. “Besides, your boss is going to get angry at you if you keep this up!” 

“All you post is photos of your dogs.” Japan added. 

“Photos of dogs have merit!” Germany protested, craning his neck to see Japan’s phone. “Blackie is extremely photogenic.” 

Italy peered up at Germany through half-lidded eyes. “Ah, but your followers want to see more of you!” He let a short laugh escape. “Especially the girls...” 

“Can we end this conversation yet?” Germany grumbled. 

Italy chuckled. “Aww, I’m just teasing, Germany!” He wrapped an arm around Germany and Japan, both of them making noises of protest. “We’re all friends here!” 

“Reluctantly so.” Germany responded, feeling as if Italy’s touch was burning against his skin.

Italy released them, snatching a Wii steering wheel off of the coffee table. “So, are you guys ready to lose?” 

“I regret to inform you that Mario Kart is my best game.” Japan said, grabbing his steering wheel off the table as well.

“Italy,” Germany leaned forward here and collected his. “You can’t even drive a bumper car correctly. You endanger yourself and others when driving a real car. Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” 

Italy started the game. They all went through setup, choosing their cars and characters. Italy went with Mario, Japan selected Toad, and Germany chose Dry Bowser. All three of them decided on bikes. Germany chose for handling, Japan for speed, and Italy chose the sugar scoot because he liked the name. 

The three raced through the desert, the room surprisingly quiet as they concentrated on their driving. Through the entire race, they were all driving extremely close to each other, all three of them vying to make it through narrow doorways. The final lap. The paramount of the action. The epitome of hard work and stress. They had made it through the entire race beside each other, each trying desperately and failing to get the upper hand. They were within a hundred virtual feet of the finish line, neck and neck. All three of their eyes widened as sirens sounded, the icons at the bottom of the screen alerting them that a blue shell was hurtling toward them. Almost in complete synchrony, Germany and Italy fell back until they were barely off the perimeter of the explosion. 

Japan wasn’t so lucky. 

“No. No, no, no, no, _no, no, no, no_...” His voice steadily grew in volume as it approached, reaching its apex as Toad exploded. _“FUCKING GOD.”_ Japan shouted at the top of his voice as Italy and Germany passed the finish line. _“SON OF A BITCH!”_

As the game’s cheery tune started, Germany and Italy looked at each other in shock before peering over at their friend. 

Japan’s hands had flown to his mouth, his eyes flared wide open as he realized what he said. 

Germany doubled over in laughter. He could hear Italy’s high-pitched giggles beside him, fueling the mirth he felt. The two were engaged in barking, full-bellied laughter. Every time Germany thought he was done laughing, he heard the mental echo of Japan’s usually serene voice cussing like a sailor and he was washed anew with laughter. By the time Germany could straighten up with a sigh, he looked over and noticed Italy had tears in his eyes. Looking across Italy, Germany could see Japan studying them with an embarrassed blush across his face, and a regretful smile. “What is it?” Germany asked with a slight chuckle. 

“I.. apologize, my anger ran away with me.” Japan apologized. 

Germany snorted, his laughter starting all over again. Italy joined in before Japan finally giggled along with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much goin' on in this chapter. The change in atmosphere prob'ly gave you whiplash. Sorry. 
> 
> Seriously, though, sorry for last chapter. I'm gonna' be honest, that was totally a filler chapter. Thanks for understanding, though. Definitely not my best work.


	11. Japan's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Italy leaves to get fresh sheets for Japan's room, Germany and Japan have an unexpected conversation...

They played for another hour before Japan yawned. 

Noticing, Italy paused the game. “Uh-oh, someone’s tired!” 

“Please, don’t let me interrupt the game.” Japan protested. 

Italy shook his head. “Nope! We have a day of fun tomorrow! Seborga said we were going to go to the beach, so we need plenty of sleep.” He stood from his seat, stretching. 

Germany tried not to notice that the hem of Italy’s T-shirt rose above his midriff. He failed drastically.

“I’ll go change the sheets in the guest room.” Italy offered. 

Japan nodded. “Thank you, Italy.” 

Italy hummed as he retreated into the hallway, leaving Germany and Japan alone. Silence permeated the room, tense with expectation and worry at the prospect of Japan’s conversation. Germany wasn’t sure if it was just him that felt it or not. 

“So. You wanted to talk.” Germany said finally, figuring he should get it over with.

Japan nodded again. “Yes.” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize you knew about Holy Rome.” Germany said. 

Japan looked over at him, his expression almost nervous. “I know.” 

“How did you?” Germany met his gaze, those suppressed feelings of confusion emerging again. 

Japan pulled the zipper of his tracksuit to his throat, letting out a sigh as he did so. “... When I shut myself at my house in the 1600’s, Netherlands and I grew quite close. You could say he was one of my first friends, even if it was more of a business partnership than anything else. Though we don’t do much business anymore, we still talk occasionally. He was the one that told me Holy Rome fell, which was interesting. He seemed to be invincible before he fell. This was about when I started having the ambition to be the most powerful country in the world, even if I didn’t try to act on it until World War Two.” 

Germany frowned, recalling the desperate fear he felt for Japan from his cell at the Allies’ headquarters toward the end of the war. Why hadn’t Japan just surrendered? It was over. There was no hope. And yet it was a perfect peek into Japan’s character that he had been missing. In his ability to read the atmosphere around him and make peace, Germany had missed the cold fury. The fierce warrior. The intense ambition and persistence that he had somehow missed in his ally and friend. That single action was the most vulnerable peek into Japan Germany had at the time. While he appreciated it, he couldn't deny the fact that most of what he said had little to do with Holy Rome.

Japan started talking again, shocking Germany back into the moment. “Netherlands knew I was interested in this, so when he told me there was an update on the Holy Rome situation all those years later, I could not resist. I knew I should have minded my own business, but I had to know it anyway.” Japan’s voice had a tinge of bitterness. “So I set out some tea and he told me. He was nearly right in the middle of the action, so he knew intimate details. Details that I probably had no right to know.” Japan sat back, for once looking his age. “I had already known about the details of your death with France... but for the right price, Netherlands was willing to tell me everything. So, I gave it to him. It was a trifle at the time, just money. Money really doesn’t seem to matter when you’re a country. It’s fleeting. Temporary. But secrets? Secrets last forever.” Japan shook his head with self-hatred. “Your secrets... last forever.” 

“Japan-” 

“Please.” Japan held up his hand, his usually calm face marred with an expression Germany had never seen before. Something almost broken. A reopened wound. “I- I just... I have to tell you. I’ve held onto it for centuries.” 

Germany paused before nodding once. 

Japan's gaze lingered on Germany for a moment longer before it returned to the coffee table. “So, when I had this new ammunition, this new inside information, I was delighted in what I found. Holy Rome reborn as Germany? This was very interesting indeed... perhaps it was possible for a country to return from being conqueredif it got powerful enough. Perhaps it was a chance for me to take more risk and come back unscathed. But you had no memories of your previous life, so it was no longer an option for me... but then I got something even better. Prussia was raising you. If I could kidnap you, then I would have something against Prussia. He would surrender. That would be more land and more power.” Japan bowed his head to his lap with shame. 

Germany frowned. He found it difficult to believe that Japan could have once had thoughts that were so... cruel. 

“And better yet, I found out that Holy Rome and Italy were in a relationship of some kind. Though it was never specified, there were mutual feelings between the two of them. So, if Italy saw you and put the clues together, he would realize his first love was alive still. Even before Netherlands had finished speaking, I had formulated a plan. I would kidnap you from Prussia. I would threaten him with your life unless he surrendered. Then, I would take Prussia’s land as my own and kill him.” 

Germany’s mouth was agape. For a moment, he imagined his brother bloodied and lying on the floor, a wound flowing in his chest as Japan stood over him, a white fist clenching the handle of a katana. 

“After I conquered Prussia, I would tell Italy I had you hostage. And I would do the same. I would kill Italy, and then when all was done, I would kill you too.” Japan’s fists clenched the fabric of his track bottoms. His voice warbled dangerously as he continued. “And I would have three countries as my own. More land. More damned power.” Japan looked up at Germany. 

Germany’s frown disappeared as he noticed Japan’s eyes brimming with tears. This had to have been the first time he’s seen his friend cry. 

Japan took a shaky breath. “But you grew so powerful so quickly. And I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough. If you hadn’t managed to grow that fast... who knows what I would have done? But I signed a pact with you and Italy. Because you were both powerful. It was originally a tactical solution. But then you and Italy showed me kindness and friendship. Compassion. You two became my best friends. And every single day I think about how grateful I am that Prussia did such a good job raising you. Because if he hadn’t... I would have killed my family.” Japan let out a single, choked sob. Almost like it was an indulgence to show emotion in this heartbroken moment. 

Germany scooted closer to his friend and rested his hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say. “Japan, I- I’m so sorry.” 

Japan shook his head and drew away from the contact. “Don’t be. Why would you be sorry? I almost killed you. I almost killed you and Italy.... I have hurt so many people, Germany. Even during World War Two when I thought I had learned of having a family, I was the last one to surrender. I. China still has a scar on his back from when I slashed him with my sword in rebellion... my own brother. I- I don't deserve forgiveness.” 

Germany’s mind flashed back to his and Japan’s conversation in the kitchen about France. It seemed like so long ago. 

_“He killed a child!” Germany yelled._

_“And how many have we killed, Germany? How many people have we killed for the sake of power?”_

_“Don’t ask that.” Germany begged._

_“I wouldn’t say it if it were not true.” Japan said, looking like he dreaded the answer as much as Germany. “We both have killed so many people…”_

Looking back, there was so much unnoticed meaning behind that conversation. If only Germany had been paying attention... the sound of Japan’s voice through the argument. Heavy with regret. With a burning self-hatred that only a country could know. 

“You said it yourself.” Germany reminded Japan. “After our argument about France... you said we make mistakes. Does that make us bad?”

“But this wasn’t a mistake.” Japan protested. “It was all intentional. A lust for power and I let it consume me.” 

Germany looked down at the carpet. “How many people have you killed since then? By choice, I mean. Not when your boss forced you to.”  
Japan opened his eyes, still staring ahead. “None.” 

“How many times have you been there for the other countries when they needed your help?” 

“I... don’t know.” 

Germany nodded, looking straight at him. “Because there have been so many times that you’ve helped them. How often do you go to America’s to help him with whatever stupid projects or horror movie screenings he had going on?” 

Japan’s hands loosened their grip. “Many times.” 

“And how much time did it take you to decide to leave your presentation to help Italy?” 

Japan paused in thought. 

“Seconds. Not even a minute. And I bet that the moment something went wrong and you figured out Italy would have to go home, you had a plan when the rest of us were too shocked to do anything. This was after months of preperation and practicing your presentation. It meant so much to you.” 

Japan shook his head. “It still doesn’t make up for what I did. What I was trying to do.” 

“No, it doesn't.” 

Japan looked at Germany, his eyes wide open in horror.

“But that doesn’t mean it never will. We can’t ever take back the mistakes we made. But we can heal the damage left behind by them through our... love for each other. Through the things that we do every day to help each other and show each other that we care. I don’t think what we did in the past matters as much as what we try to do now.” Germany let his hand fall on Japan’s shoulder again. “So take comfort in that, I suppose. We live in the present, which leads into the future. The past is passed and gone.” 

Germany was startled out of his attempts to comfort his friend as he heard soft footsteps behind them. 

“Well said, Germany.” Italy said, his voice unusually calm. 

Japan whirled around. “Italy... how much did you hear?” 

Germany furrowed his brow. How was Italy so quiet?

“All of it.” Italy answered, resting his hand on Japan’s other shoulder. 

“Italy, I- I can’t say how sorry I am.” 

“Then don’t.” Italy said. He rounded the couch, his hand never leaving his friend’s shoulder as he took a seat on his left side. “You’re already forgiven.” 

Japan’s shoulders sagged with relief. “I can’t understand your kindness.” 

“Oh, Japan... who ever said you needed to suffer alone?” Italy soothed.

Japan lowered his head and nodded. “I’ve never told anyone. It was no one's fault but my own.” 

“It’s okay. We all have secrets. I think it’s as important to let them go as it is to keep them.” 

Japan sighed. “I’m so tired.” 

“Oh.” Italy laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head. “I uh.. haven’t changed the sheets out yet. I’ll just... go do that.” He got up. 

Japan gave a close-mouthed smile. “It’s okay, I need some water anyway.” 

“There! It worked out perfectly! We had our bonding moment, and you can have your water! So we can just forget that little mistake!" Italy decided, leaving the room. 

Japan stood and walked to the kitchen, Germany following him. 

Germany sat down at a bar stool as Japan grabbed a glass from the cupboard and filled it. 

Japan took a sip. “If I may ask, why are you and Italy so tense?” 

Germany looked down at the counter. He recognized the deliberate change of subject, as it was a conversational trick he often employed himself. He shut his eyes, sighing as he decided to let it slide. “We- we were in the Pantheon. We were alone. I turn around and Italy is looking at me. And he comes closer, and we almost... kissed. Then my damned phone went off.” Germany was more embarrassed than he was willing to admit this. But he knew his friends’ ability to read the room and employ diplomacy. They were skills that Germany lacked in, admittedly. He figured if anyone were able to help him, it would be Japan.

Japan paused, taking another drink of his water. The two sat in silence for several moments, both lost in their own thoughts. “Interesting development.” He took a seat next to Germany on the other bar stool.

Germany nodded. 

They continued in their silence for about two minutes, Germany fiercely regretting telling Japan. He looked up as he noticed Japan chuckling to himself. “What is it?” He snapped.

Japan shook his head, his eyes closed behind his glasses. “Nothing. Just thought of something funny.” He opened his eyes, observing Germany. “So is that all?” 

Germany clasped his hands in front of him, his eyes returning to the counter. “I don’t know what to do.” Another pause. Germany looked up to see Japan staring at him with a deadpan expression. “What is it?” 

Japan set his glass of water on the counter, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “Italy almost kissed you. You would have gone through with it if your phone hadn’t gone off. You said you're asking me what to do?” 

Germany nodded, glad that Japan understood. _“Ja.”_

 _"Dear Lord Jesus, what do I do with these gay disasters?"_ He sighed in Japanese.

“Huh?” Germany raised an eyebrow. 

Japan sighed again. “Nothing, nothing. I am afraid I will be no help.” 

“But what-?” 

Italy stood in the doorway. “What is it? Maybe I can help!"

Germany feigned casualty, clearing his throat. "Nothing. It's fine." 

Italy nodded. "If you say so! I finished your bedding, Japan.” 

Japan turned, giving Italy a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Italy turned to Germany. “Are you ready for bed, Germany?” 

Germany stood and stretched. “I’m more tired now than I think I’ve ever been.” 

Italy smiled up at him. "You look like you need snuggles!"

Germany was so tired that he only offered a grunt in reply, allowing Italy to lead the way. He was too tired as he heard a thump as he left, and too tired to realize that it was from Japan face-palming. He was too tired to pay attention to what Italy’s room looked like, and barely what Italy was saying as they burrowed under the blankets. 

“It’s sad that Japan carried that around for so long.” 

Germany grunted, barely keeping his eyes open. “I wish we had known. Perhaps we could have helped.” 

Italy turned over and smiled. “I think you did a pretty great job!” 

Germany hummed. "Could have done better." 

"Go to sleep, Germany." Italy's voice was soft. 

Germany hummed, finally giving in to the temptation of sleep. “Goodnight, Italy.” 

Italy giggled. “Goodnight, Germany.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting real burnt out, lads. 
> 
> Did that sound like an actual conversation that actual people would have? I'm not sure if I got it quite right. Thanks!


	12. Seborga's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Germany, Italy, and Japan pack up to spend the day at Seborga's. That's right, folks, it's a classic beach chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter in this fic so far! I noticed that it isn't as popular anymore, so I'm going to try to improve the quality of my work. Thanks for your patience, guys!

Germany stirred as he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Hmm?” He grunted. 

“Germany, It’s time to get up.” 

Italy’s voice. Italy? Italy woke up before him? 

Germany turned his head toward Italy’s voice and squinted his eyes open. “What time is it?” His words were slurred with sleep. 

Italy looked down at him with a content, close-mouthed smile. “About seven thirty.” 

Germany hummed. His brain was so... slow. “You woke up before me.” 

“Yup.” Italy reached his hand forward and smoothed Germany’s bangs away from his forehead. “I set an alarm.” 

Germany almost closed his eyes at the contact before his brain finally caught up with what was happening. “What are you doing? Stop that.” He couldn’t bring himself to bat back Italy’s hand. 

“Sorry,” Italy withdrew his hand. “We need to make sure to pack for the beach and get going! I think Romano and Spain are going to be there, too.” 

Germany sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, sitting up. “More people.” 

Italy laughed. “Don’t worry, Germany, it’ll be fun!” 

“Perhaps.” His hand dropped as he got out of bed. He stretched. “Is Japan awake?” 

“I think so. I heard him turn on the shower a bit ago.” 

Germany grunted. “So I’m the last one awake.” 

“Can’t blame you.” Italy stretched, his legs still under the covers. “You were so tired last night! You could barely talk!” 

“Well, at least I’m well rested for today.” Germany crossed the room to his backpack. He pulled open his drawers. “We’re only staying for the day, right? So we’ll only need swimsuits?” 

“And towels, and suntan lotion, and goggles!” Italy finished. 

Germany pulled his swimming trunks out of his top drawer. “What adult brings swimming goggles to the beach?” 

“I do!” 

Germany half-turned. “Of course you do.” He kneeled down on the ground and rummaged around his suitcase for his sunscreen, adding it to his bag. He was pleased to see it was completely full. 

“Why are you adding sunscreen?” Italy asked. “I have suntan lotion!” 

Germany sent Italy a level look. “You remember when we were stranded on that island. I burn if I so much as get the reflection of the sun off the sand.” 

“Hmm... must suck.” Italy said. 

Germany let his eyes roam over Italy’s naturally olive complexion, insanely jealous of his ability to tan. “Hmm.” Was all he supplied as he finished packing. He swung the backpack over his shoulder. “Get up, we have to get ready for the day.” He grabbed a white wide-strapped undershirt. 

“You can’t lecture me!” Italy pointed out, tossing off his covers. “I woke up before you!” 

Germany entered the bathroom, pointedly ignoring Italy’s words. 

Italy laughed gleefully, leaving the room. 

Germany shook his head, finding himself with a smile on his face. It fell immediately. God, what was wrong with him? Waking up late, talking about feelings, next thing you know, he’s going to be rapping show tunes with America. 

By the time he was out of the bathroom, Japan and Italy were sitting at the counter. Japan was nursing a coffee at the counter, with Italy standing by the coffee machine. There was a plethora of coffee equipment splayed out in front of him. Scales, bean grinders, spoons, measuring cups... 

“What are you doing?” 

“Making actual good coffee. It’s been too long.” 

Germany reached over Italy, grabbing the hot pot of instant coffee off the other coffee machine. “There’s nothing wrong with Folgers. It’s cheaper, easier, faster.” 

Italy blew out a sigh, grinding out his beans. “And it tastes like dirt.” 

“Does it?” Germany asked Japan. 

Japan shrugged. “Your coffee taste is more refined than mine, Germany.” 

Germany shook his head. “Hardly. Prussia is the coffee snob of the house.” 

Italy lit up. “He is?” 

“Unfortunately. But his setup isn’t nearly as elaborate as yours.” 

“We should meet up for coffee!” Italy declared. 

“You can do that on your own.” Germany poured a mug of coffee, taking a seat next to Japan. “I’ll stick with instant.” 

“Italy said that Seborga is making breakfast for us there.” Japan said as Germany sat. 

“Really?” 

Italy nodded. “Yup! He’s an early riser! He’s never been too much like Romano or I.” 

“Seems that there’s always one odd brother.” Germany added. 

Japan nodded. “Prussia.” 

Italy snickered. 

“So when Italy finally finishes his cup of coffee, we’ll leave for Seborga’s house.” Germany decided.

Italy carefully measured out coffee grounds on a scale. “Sure, just give me ten minutes.” 

Germany sighed. 

Fifteen minutes later and they were filing in the car. Japan generously offered to drive, Italy calling dibs on shotgun. Humiliatingly, Germany was pushed to the back of the car. Swallowing his pride, he had gotten in the back of the car without protest. But that turned out to be the least of his problems as Japan started driving. As they drove down Italy’s long driveway, Germany just assumed Japan was going slowly downhill. He had commended his friend for his wise decision. But as they went down the roads leading to Seborga, he noticed that their creeping pace of about 60 kilometers an hour was Japan’s usual driving speed. 

Italy looked in the rearview at Germany, shrugging his shoulders. “Japan?” Italy tried. 

“Hmm?” Japan answered, not noticing the problem. 

“You... know we have to be there for breakfast, right?” 

“Yes.” 

Silence ensued as Germany looked at Italy in the mirror before finding Japan’s eyes in the rearview. “Well... the speed limit here is 110...” 

“I choose to drive safely.” 

“Well you can still drive safely at 110, Japan!” Italy reassured him. “Germany does it all the time!” 

“Remember, I haven’t broken a single traffic law. But you may get pulled over for going this slow.” 

Japan huffed out a sigh. “My apologies. I didn’t realize it was bothering you this much.” His tone indicated that he wasn’t sorry whatsoever. “I will speed up.” 

Germany eyed the speedometer as Japan sped up, maintaining a speed of 90 kilometers per hour. Germany sighed to himself, but kept quiet. Though Japan looked young, his old man tendencies shone through every now and again. From soaking in hot water, to driving slow, to bellyaching about sore joints. 

It took them about fifteen minutes to get down to Seborga’s. In the front seat, Italy was practically vibrating as they pulled into Seborga’s driveway. 

Looking out the window, Germany noticed that the dark cobblestone of the driveway contrasted with the white sand of the beach. He raised his eyebrows. Seborga lived on the coast? 

“Look! That’s his house!” 

Germany looked through the windshield, his eyebrows raising. Seborga’s house was... beautiful. But not in the way that other nations’ houses were. It was beautiful in its simplicity. The house was largely white stucco, with a black metal roof that slanted downward. Halfway down the wall, the pristine white walls met layered grey stones that matched the chimney sticking out of the house. There were short, immature palms standing sentry to the whitewashed door, the bottoms submerged in decorative pebbles. There was a grey brick walkway leading straight from the driveway. Though the exterior was simple, the house looked to be about two levels high. 

Japan pulled in the driveway and parked. “Hmm.” 

Germany was about to suggest they bring their bags in before Italy had already stood up and left the car. 

Italy ripped the door open, scurrying toward the house. _"Brother! I'm here!"_

The door slammed open. Germany cringed as the white painted door bounced off the wall. 

Seborga was standing with his arms outstretched, his smile beaming a blinding white. _"Italy! Finally! Spain and 'Mano are already here. 'Mano's about ready to tear my head off if I don't let us eat soon."_

Italy launched into his embrace, the two laughing, continuing to chatter their hellos in rapid Italian. 

“I suppose we should get out of the car.” Japan suggested. 

Germany nodded. “I suppose we should.” 

Yet they made no move. Germany mused that it was a probably good thing they had Italy. Otherwise he and Japan would probably never go anywhere. Just two introverts, sitting in a car and avoiding others. He sighed, opening the door. “Let’s go.” 

Japan mirrored his sigh, “Let’s.” He followed Germany out. 

The chattering cut off as Germany retrieved his bag from the back seat. 

“Japan! Germany!” Seborga’s voice called out. He was trailed by Italy as he went down the path toward them.

“Good morning, Seborga.” Japan replied, bending at the waist. 

Seborga stopped, also bending at the waist. The movement was well-meaning, but awkward. It was obvious that he didn’t do it often. “Good morning, Japan!” He straightened, beaming again.   
“Thanks for coming! I’ve been really excited to have you over!” 

Japan smiled, standing up straight. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“And Germany!” Seborga flounced forward. Germany stiffened as he realized Seborga was about to come in for a hug before Seborga realized, and corrected his hug into a handshake. “Welcome to my place.” 

Germany shook Seborga’s hand, relieved. “Thank you for having me.” 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Italy asked. “Seborga’s place has always been lovely!” 

“Well no matter how lovely it is outside, the food’s in there!” Seborga turned and waved an inviting hand. “Come in, come in!”

Italy beamed at Germany and Japan before he also turned, following his brother in. They entered the house, Germany’s jaw dropping as he looked around the interior. Like Italy’s house, it was an open floor plan. They exited the hallway, Seborga and Italy chatting in English. The space opened up into an open area with dark floors. The first thing you saw was the living room, dotted with grey couches and easy chairs. Along a wall, made of dark wood, was a bookshelf filled with books covered in a thin film of dust. The centerpiece of the room was a chimney made of the same grey stone as outside, rising up to the ceiling of the house. The middle of the house was high-ceilinged, the second level consisting of a loft that made up the roof of the hallway and extended along the front of the house. He looked over and noticed a wide grey table, the legs bending under the burden of dishes of hot, steaming food. A large kitchen was behind the spread, with white granite countertops and large cabinets. 

Sitting at the table was Romano, who was tapping his finger on the table. “Finally. You’re here. Can we eat now, Seb- Seborga?” 

Germany caught this slip, wondering what it was about. He suspected that Romano had almost called Seborga by his human name. He wouldn’t be shocked, Gilbert had almost made that mistake himself many times. 

Spain, who was sitting on his right, laughed. “Relax, ‘Mano. It’s only been a few minutes!” 

“That’s a few minutes without me eating breakfast, bastard! I thought I would die of old age before they got here. And that’s not even possible.” Romano snapped. 

Italy laughed, rounding the table as he embraced Romano from behind, Romano grunting with disdain. “Sorry, Romano! Japan drives like an old man!” 

Seborga took his seat at the head of the table, laughing. “Like you can tease anyone about their driving, Italy.” 

Italy took his seat on the other side of Seborga, resting his face in his palm, but a smile was still on his face. “Hmm... well yours isn’t much better.” 

“Better than yours.” Seborga retorted.

Japan took a seat by the end of the table, which was the only empty seat. Germany followed awkwardly, setting his bag by his seat. 

“Well Romano is the only good driver out of the three of you.” Spain declared, leaning forward on the table. “Shame he never drives.” 

Romano harrumphed as he reached forward, taking a piece of some sort of breakfast casserole. “Why would I drive when you drive me around everywhere, tomato bastard?” 

The others helped themselves, Japan and Germany awkwardly following along with whatever the others were doing. Despite how long everyone here had been alive, it was the first time they had all met together for much of anything besides business. There were outings they all had together as “bonding experiences”, but even then they remained in their same cliques. This was definitely a breach in the usual protocol Germany followed: Just stay with Japan and Italy. But he found it easier to listen along with the others and smile as the others laughed at the stories they presented. They went one by one down the table, Japan even chiming in with a couple of stories about America from when the two were briefly roommates together. 

“What about you, Germany?” Spain asked, his lilting voice alight with amusement. “You’ve been quiet.” 

Germany hummed, looking up from his hash. “Well... I certainly have a few stories about Italy.” 

“I’m not surprised.” Romano grunted. 

“Like what stories?” Italy asked, excited about being the subject of conversation. 

Germany chuckled. “So, so many. Like that one time I tried to teach you how to throw a grenade.” 

Italy clapped a couple times. “Yes, I remember this one! We were in the middle of training – you weren’t there, Japan – and Germany was trying to teach me how to throw a grenade. And you pulled the pin out with your teeth and threw it away-” 

“Like a normal person.” Germany interjected. “I provided clear instructions, and I tell Italy it’s his turn. So as I turn around to point where Italy’s supposed to throw it, I hear the pin fall next to me. I look back at Italy, and he has the grenade in his mouth and he had thrown away the _pin_."

Through the laughter around the table, Italy sat up straight. “Germany went crazy! He was telling to throw it away, but my brain wasn’t working!” 

“It never does.” Germany chided, but he had a smile on his face. “The only reason he didn’t explode at all was because I pulled it out of his mouth and threw it away myself. It exploded before it even hit the ground.” 

“My teeth hurt all day after that,” Italy lamented through a smile. 

“South Italy did the same thing, as I recall.” 

Romano turned bright red. “It was a trick to scare you, Potato Fucker!” 

Everyone laughed. Spain rested his hand on Romano’s back, Romano’s frown giving way into a slight smile.

By the time they finished breakfast, Germany was amazed. Not only about how good of a time he was having, but at Seborga’s cooking skill. If he thought Italy was a decent cook, Seborga was Gordon Ramsey. Italy had mentioned in passing that him and his brothers each had their own special interests. His was art, Romano’s was fashion, and Seborga’s was cooking. But now he truly understood. He wasn’t given much time to consider how good it was before Italy stood up. 

“Let’s go to the beach!” He declared, standing. 

“Hell yeah!” Seborga agreed, also standing. “I have everything! Umbrellas, suntan lotion, booze...” 

“Is alcohol allowed on the beach?” Germany asked. 

“Until you get caught, yes!” Seborga winked. 

Germany and Japan traded a nervous glance. 

“... I have a couple of concerns.” Japan admitted. 

Spain laughed. “No worries, Japan. If you were to go out on the beach and look around, Seborga’s is the only place for miles.” 

“Besides, I desperately need a drink with friends.” Seborga left the table, grabbing a beach bag off the counter and walking to the fridge. He opened it and began stowing bottles in the bag. “Do you know how hard it is to get a good drink when half your friends are underage?” 

Germany hummed. “It’s still not a good idea.” 

“Come on, guys! We’re wasting daylight!” Italy cried, sprinting away from the table. He almost tripped over a side table as he ran over to the glass patio door and pulled it open. He didn’t bother to close it as he bolted to the beach, pulling his t-shirt off over his head. 

Romano scowled, also standing. “My idiot brother... not even putting on sunscreen.” He turned, holding out his hand. “Toss it to me.” 

“Are you kidding?” Seborga shut the fridge, the bag noticeably straining under the weight of all the bottles stored inside. “He tans!” 

Romano’s scowl deepened. “Fine. See if I care when he burns.” He stood, walking after his brother in a leisurely pace. “Come on, bastard.” 

Germany was confused as to who Romano was talking to until Spain stood with a smile. 

“Coming, ‘Mano.” 

Japan also stood. “Are you coming, Germany?” 

Germany left his seat, leaning over and grabbing his bag. “Do you want your Nintendo?” 

“No, not yet. I think I will enjoy the sun.” Japan decided. 

Seborga grunted, waddling slightly as he tried to carry out the insulated beach bag. “I’ll be there in a second.” 

Germany sighed, shouldering his bag. “Do you want some help with that?” 

“Really?” Seborga straightened. “Thanks, Germany!” 

As Germany walked over and took the heavy bag from the third brother, he noticed that Seborga was taller than his siblings. He came up to Germany’s nose, in fact. He hefted the bag. It was clear that Seborga was just as weak as his brothers despite the height difference. 

“I’ll take the sun-brellas! You and Japan will probably need them.” 

Japan shook his head. “I will be fine, actually. I tend to tan. Germany, however...” His voice had a playful lilt as he let his sentence trail off. 

Germany turned around to shut the door. “ _Ja, ja._ That’s enough out of you.” He turned around, taking in the scenery around him. The back of his house was bordered with a deck made of light wood, dotted with white wicker furniture. Resting on the seats were colorful cushions. However pretty that was, the real beauty lay beyond the edge of the deck. The bright blue waters contrasted sharply against the white sand, an endless expanse of water. 

Seborga surged ahead and grabbed a couple sun-brellas leaning against the wooden border of the deck. 

“Let me help you.” Japan offered, taking one of the sun-brellas. 

“Thanks. Hey, you realize we’re doing down to the beach, right?” 

Japan looked down at his ensemble. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “Oh, no. I have my swimwear underneath.” 

“Good. Everyone here is going to swim for at least a little bit! Nothing compares to swimming in the Italian waters.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “But saltwater is saltwater no matter where it is.” 

Seborga turned around with a bright grin, his curl fluttering slightly with the wind. “Not a romantic, I see. How you and my brother are so close, I have no idea.” 

Germany noticed Seborga’s wicked grin and blushed. Damn it. “Not that close.” 

“Okay.” Seborga said, clearly not convinced. Italy and Spain were in the distance, engaged in a water fight as Romano was laying back on a red towel. He was propped up on his elbows, rubbing suntan lotion on his already tanned skin. Seborga quietly approached, stabbing the end of a sun-brella in the sand not two inches away from his elbow. 

Romano gave a girlish screech and recoiled, his Cartier sunglasses falling on the towel. He noticed who was beaming down at him and growled. “Damn you. Your fucking umbrella’s going to ruin my tan.” 

“Come on, Romano!” Seborga chortled. “You’re already tanned enough! Loosen up for just one day, huh?” 

“I will when the Macho Potato gives me a drink.” He picked up his sunglasses, checking for grains of sand. 

Germany reached in the bag and grabbed a beer, tossing it to Romano. 

Romano scrambled with the bottle for a moment before it fell on the towel. He growled, but said nothing as he lay back and donned the overpriced sunglasses again. 

The setup was relatively short, with Germany putting on sunblock as soon as his towel was laid out. Under the shade of the sun-brella and the protection of sunscreen, he was fairly confident that he would leave tonight without a sunburn. He was perfectly content to sit and watch Italy mess in the water with Spain and Seborga, Italy laughing as Seborga popped from the water and balanced his older brother on his shoulders. Japan was sitting on the bank, having abandoned his sweats. His camera was raised to take photos of the action. That left Romano and Germany, Romano reading a newspaper as he lay on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows.

Germany frowned as he was irriated with the urge to work. It had lay at the back of his mind for a while, but he had been determined to ignore it. It bit at him with increasing ferocity. Looking over at Romano, he noticed that the economic news lay in the sand, untouched. “South Italy.” 

“What?” 

“Are you done with the economics?” 

Not looking up from the fashion news, Romano passed Germany the economic pages. “Can’t stay away from work long enough to take a real vacation?” 

“I don’t know what else you expected.” 

Romano grunted. “Me neither.” 

A couple moments of silence passed as they perused the pages before Romano’s gruff voice started again. 

“Hey, Potato Head.” 

“Hmm?” Germany looked up from the papers. 

“Who am I?” 

“What?” 

“What, are you dickless _and_ brainless? Who am I?” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “... you’re South Italy.” 

Romano turned over. “Why the hell do you call me that? People call me Romano.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you didn’t like it.” 

“Just answer the question. Why do you call me South Italy?” 

Germany lowered his newspapers. “Well, I know for a fact that I wouldn’t like it if people just called me by my human name. When Prussia... dissolved, he made sure people kept calling him ‘Prussia’. Because it’s important to our identities. Names are privileged information. And with everyone calling you ‘Romano’ all the time... I guess I just thought you would like it if someone called you ‘South Italy’.” 

Romano grunted, narrowing his eyes. After a short pause, he returned to his paper. “South Italy’s fine.” 

Germany furrowed his brow, also returning his pages. Did Romano really care if he called him ‘South Italy’? What was the right course of action here? Why were emotions so damn hard? He cleared his throat. He guessed he would just keep calling him ‘South Italy’, then. 

“Germany!” He heard from above him. 

Germany looked up, his eyes widening. Italy was kneeling down to his level, his tan skin shining under beads of saltwater. His wet hair was swept back away from his forehead in a way that Germany didn’t know he loved until this moment. Italy’s doe eyes were wide open, shaded only by his long brown lashes. 

“Ye-” Germany’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Shit. “Yes?” 

“Seborga has pool toys in his house! We have to go find them!” 

“Can you get them yourself? Surely they’re not that heavy.” 

“Maybe, but I don’t know where they are. Seborga doesn’t, either.” 

Germany huffed out a sigh. “Okay, okay, I’m coming.” He stood, ducking out from under the umbrella. Germany followed Italy in the house, not noticing the congregation that was forming behind his turned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seborga needs more love, kiddos. Let me know if he's okay in this chapter! It's my first time writing... well, any of these characters. So all advice is welcome. Thanks for reading! Y'all are stars.


	13. The Plan...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan, Romano, Seborga, and Spain conduct a plan... kind of... it's mostly an excuse to get wasted.

Japan furrowed his brow as he noticed Seborga whispering to Spain, Spain’s snicker following whatever he had said. What were they planning? He stood as the two sloshed through the water to the shore. 

Seborga reached forward and grabbed Japan’s arm. “Come on, Japan!” 

Japan pulled his arm away. “Why? What’s happening?” 

“We have some scheming to do, _Mi amigo_.” Spain answered, chuckling. 

Japan reluctantly followed them, wondering what they were going to do. He had heard horror stories from Germany about the hijinks Spain got into with Prussia and France. Surely, Seborga was about as bad of an influence. The other two nations strode confidently to Romano, who had yet to look up from his paper. 

“What do you want?” 

Spain kneeled down and ruffled Romano’s hair. “Come on, _mi pequeño tomate,_ be nice!” Spain left a little peck on Romano's forehead.

Romano blushed heavily and swatted Spain’s hand away. “Okay, okay, piss off!” He sat up. “What is it?” 

Seborga plopped on the sand next to his brother. “We have a plan...” 

“It’s a shock you could use your one braincell long enough... what is it?” 

Spain sat next to Romano, propping an arm out behind the both of them. “Have you noticed the tension between Italy and Germany?” 

Romano scoffed. “Even America has noticed the tension between Italy and Germany.” 

“Spain and I,” here Seborga gestured to Spain. “Have decided that we need to get them together tonight.” 

Japan furrowed his brow. “Oh, I don’t think we should...” 

“Finally,” Romano inclined his head to Japan. “Someone with a brain. Leave them alone.” 

“Oh come on, ‘Mano!” Spain pleaded. “It’s been almost 80 years! You can’t expect them to realize anytime soon.” 

Japan cleared his throat. The others had no idea that the two had already figured it out. The others did not realize that Germany and Italy had almost shown each other themselves.

Seborga narrowed his eyes at the shy nation. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?” 

Japan’s usually composed face was covered in a light blush. “I- no, not at all!” 

“Wow.” Romano lowered his sunglasses, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a worse liar than Seborga.” 

Seborga lightly smacked Romano on the arm. “Shut up, Romano. Come on, Japan, spill it!” 

“I...” Japan turned to Romano for help. 

He shook his head. “You’re on your own on this one.” 

“Come on, Japan! We can help your friends! You have to be getting as tired of this as we are.” Spain tried. 

Japan sighed, thinking. It’s been almost painful, watching the two dance around each other for this long. For almost a full human lifetime. It was almost as sad as his own unreciprocated feelings... Suddenly, he was struck with inspiration to help his friends. If he could not be with who he wanted, then surely he should not keep his friends from the same happiness he wanted so badly. “Okay. Fine.” 

Spain sat up. “Yes!” 

“Sshh!” Seborga hushed, waving his hand at Spain. “Be quiet! He’s talking!” 

Japan shifted under the attention he was getting. “... So yesterday-” 

“As recent as yesterday?” Romano asked, sounding interested. 

“... yes. So they came back from Rome and they were acting strangely. So I asked Germany what had happened. They almost kissed and he didn’t know what to do.” 

Romano’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck.” 

“Almost? How do you _almost_ kiss someone?” Seborga asked. 

“His phone went off.” 

“Oof.” Spain cringed. 

Romano pulled the sunglasses off his nose. “Wait, so they almost kissed? They almost touched lips. There was almost contact. It was mutual and all that shit. And he was wondering what he was supposed to do?” 

Japan nodded, surprised that he was relating to Romano at all. “It was lost on me too. The worst part is that Italy asked me the same question just minutes before Germany did.” 

Seborga face palmed. “ _Mio Dio_ , our brother is useless, Romano.” 

“Are you even surprised?” Romano asked. 

Segorga smiled. “No.” 

“Is that all that happened?” Spain questioned, unusually serious. 

Japan nodded. 

“Okay, here’s what we have to do.” Spain decided, closing his eyes in thought. “We have to get them drunk tonight.” 

Romano scoffed. “That shouldn’t be hard, they both like their alcohol.” 

“Then what?” Seborga asked. “You can’t just get two people drunk and expect them to get lip locking, I’ve tried many times!” 

Japan raised an eyebrow. 

Seborga shrugged. “England and France.” 

“Now _that’s_ a lost cause.” Romano said. 

Spain. “Try hanging out with France. If I have to hear one more time about England’s ‘pert ass’...” 

Seborga shook his head frantically. “Ew, gross, I don’t want to hear about that!” 

“Yeah, me neither.” Spain replied dryly. 

“Okay, focus.” Romano said, drawing them back in, much to Japan’s relief. “The hell are we supposed to do about Italy and the kraut?” 

The four paused in thought, trying to think of what could possibly get them together. Japan opened his eyes as it dawned on him. He had seen loads of movies! He’d seen lots of media that proved that this idea was foolproof. “I have an idea.” 

The others focused their attention on Japan. 

“Would truth or dare work?” He asked. 

Romano furrowed his brow. “Could be a long shot.” 

Seborga snapped. “Long shot!” He leaned over and shook Romano’s shoulders excitedly. “That’s it!” 

Romano slapped Seborga’s hands. 

Seborga hissed with pain and withdrew his hands, but his smile returned. “Truth or dare or shot.”

“...So we drink every time we don’t want to do something?” Spain asked. 

Seborga snapped his fingers into finger guns. “On the money!” 

“That could work.” Japan decided. “Germany is very competitive, and Italy enjoys drinking games."

“The Italian brothers know how to party.” Romano said. 

“Plus, it could be fun!” Spain decided.

“What could be fun?” Germany’s voice asked.

Japan peeked around the umbrella. Germany and Italy were standing there, their arms laden with boxes of pool toys. 

“We’re going to play truth or dare or drink!” Spain revealed. 

“We are?!” Italy jumped up and down. “I’m a champ at that game!” 

Germany looked over at Italy, surprised. “You are? When did you play that?” 

“Karaoke night.” Italy looked over at Germany smugly. "You'd know if you went."

Romano shuddered. “Ugh. Wish I could forget it.” 

“Which one?” Japan asked. 

“The _Fergalicious_ Incident of 2018.”

Spain laughed as Germany let out a suffering sigh. “Oh, yeah! That was great, huh?” 

“I think the worst part was the choreography.” Romano growled. 

Germany blanched. “What?” 

“You didn’t see it on Youtube?” Italy asked. “It was trending for weeks!” 

Germany groaned, sitting down on his blanket. “I can’t believe I’m related to him.”

“Me neither!” Seborga added. “You need to loosen up! You know a great way to do that? Truth or dare or drink.” 

Germany hummed. It appeared he was actually considering the idea. Japan didn't know if it was the relaxed atmosphere, Germany's love of a good vacation, or the temptation of alcohol that finally convinced him. "Okay."

Japan smiled to himself. Little did Germany know that he dug his own grave. He tried to ignore that tinge of guilt, dismissing it with the thought that this was all to help them... right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's off her update schedule? This girl! I'll post two chapters today to help make up for it.


	14. A Disaster and a Half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth or Dare... or drink finally happens. Drunken shenanigans ensue. Japan worries about the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, we've got four more chapters (and maybe a sneak peak of that hanahaki fic). Mind-blowing. 
> 
> Also, this is my fic, and I say that tequila starts affecting the body IMMEDIATELY. My fic, my rules. Also, it would be super boring to just write them sitting around a fire waiting for the alcohol to take effect.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Germany enjoyed reading his books and the newspaper under the shade of his umbrella, Italy occasionally coming over to join him and take a nap on the sand. At one point, Spain came over and carried Romano to the water, dumping him in. The others reveled in the protest Romano gave, shouting profanities and squirming in Spain’s arms as he carried Romano bridal style. After Romano stood up from the water, still scowling, he was quick to forgive Spain after he brushed Romano’s hair out of his face and gave him a salty peck on the lips. 

At last, the sun was going down. Seborga built a fire only after he assured Japan that he would clean up after it. They were sitting around the fire, the air starting to cool around them as the heat of the flame warmed their tanned skin. 

They were situated around the fire with Seborga seated by the insulated bag. He pulled out several shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. He poured the shots as the others passed them around, waiting for the game to begin. 

“Okay, I’ll go first.” Seborga volunteered. “Whoever here is a virgin, take a shot.” 

Japan chuckled. “That’s not how the game works.” 

“Ah-ah!” Seborga protested, lifting his shot glass. “My tequila, my rules. Now all virgins drink.” 

Germany flushed with embarrassment as only he and Italy took a shot. 

Noticing his blush, Spain laughed. “No shame, Germany! It’s kinda’ sweet!” 

Germany grunted, staring down at the sand.

“Yes, and Italy is one too.” Japan observed with a faint grin. “You’re not alone, Germany. No need for concern.” 

Germany sent a level glare to Japan as his blush deepened. This was humiliating. And Japan was here teasing him, the little shit. 

“It’s okay, Germany!” Italy said, a slight flush already on his cheeks from the booze. 

Germany grunted. “I can drink you all under the table, though.” 

“I hold my alcohol best out of my brothers. Even better than Italy!” Seborga challenged with a smug grin.

“What about Romano?” Germany asked. 

Spain snorted. “He’ll be wasted the moment he takes his first shot. He’s a real lightweight, and alcohol hits him faster than anyone I’ve ever seen!” 

“Hey!” 

“Can you say I’m lying?” Spain asked. 

Romano slumped slightly. “No.” 

“You go, Japan.” Seborga commanded. 

Japan paused, surprised. “Oh. Okay, um... Spain. Truth or dare?” 

“Dare. Momma’ didn’t raise a coward.” Spain answered. 

“What Momma’?” Germany asked. “We’re nations.”

Spain waved a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t matter. Dare.” 

Japan nodded. There was a period of silence as he tried to think of a dare. “Go in the ocean until the water gets up to your neck.” 

Spain’s eyes widened. “What? No! It’s so cold! I only just got dry!” 

“You already found his weakness.” Romano had an evil grin. “The cold.” 

“So you won’t do it?” Japan asked, a rare expression of challenge on his face. 

Spain returned the expression, though his look of challenge appeared more reluctant. “I will!” He stood, brushing the sand off his trunks as he gingerly paced down to the seaside. He paused, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. He made it up to his ankles before he retreated, sprinting back to the fire. “I can’t! I tried. I did my best, okay? But I can’t!” 

Germany chuckled as Spain rested his feet in front of the fire. 

“Oh, that’s good. Warms me right up.” 

“The tequila will warm you up more.” Seborga snickered. “Drink up.” 

Spain tossed back the shot glass. “Worth it.” 

“Your go then, Spain!” Italy cheered as he refilled his shot glass. He offered it to Germany. 

Germany took it and refilled his own. 

“Okay...” Spain looked around with an evil smirk. “Italy.” 

“Hmm?” Italy hummed, looking excited.

“Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

Romano coughed. “Pussy.” 

Italy giggled. “Fine, then, dare!” 

“I dare you to curse.” Spain said. 

Italy raised an eyebrow. “I curse all the time.” 

“No, I mean I want you to drop an ‘f’ bomb.” Spain clarified. 

“What are you, ten?” Romano asked. “Just say fucking fuck like a goddamn adult!”

Italy laughed at Romano’s outburst. “That’s really your dare?” 

“Yup!” 

“Okay then, fuck.” Italy shrugged his shoulders. “I’m 2,000 years old. It’s not like it’s a big deal!” 

Spain grunted. “Fine, then.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. It was almost like Spain wanted Italy to get wasted. Not that he was surprised. Despite his hardworking spirit, Spain could be a party animal. 

“Okay, my turn!” Italy said. “Germany.” 

“Yes?” 

“Truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“I truth you to pick dare.” 

The tequila in Germany caused him to laugh. “What? You can’t do that.” 

“Tequila-owner-override!” Seborga declared, waving the bottle around as evidence. “I’ll allow it.” 

“This isn’t court!” Germany protested. 

“Bold of you to assume we care, muscle-head.” Romano added with a devilish smirk. “You have to do it.” 

“Fine, dare.” 

Italy bounced. “Sing ‘Bubblegum Bitch’ by MARINA!” 

The Italian brothers burst into laughter, leaving everyone else confused.

Germany glanced around, feeling disconcerted by the others’ reactions. “... what’s that?” 

Seborga messed around on his phone for a minute. “Wait, I’ll show you. Oh, _mio Dio_...” He lifted his phone, the song playing. 

Germany grew slowly more and more aghast as he listened to the lyrics, shaking his head when they got to the chorus. 

Spain laughed gleefully at the image of Germany singing the lyrics. Japan found it within himself to chuckle quietly to himself, despite the pinkness in his face from the racy lyrics. 

Germany had enough. “Stop the song, stop it!” He knocked back a shot. “I don’t care how many shots I have to take, I’m not doing it.” 

“I might just take you up on that!” Italy said. “Another shot for refusal.” 

Germany delighted in a warm feeling that spread from his stomach through his entire body. Like he swallowed a shot of hot coffee instead. He smiled a bit. “I thought I just took a shot for refusal.” 

“Then take another!” Italy leaned forward, peering at Germany through heavily-lidded eyes. “Unless you’re too chicken...” 

Much to Germany’s dismay, he felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He was unsure whether this was from Italy’s proximity, or from the drink that was finally taking effect. He hoped desperately that his sunburn would cover this. He swallowed his nerves, though, and made a fierce eye contact as he lifted his shot glass in a toasting motion. He relished how Italy’s smirk fell before he tossed his head back, taking the shot. He dimly registered Spain’s wolf whistle in the background. As Germany screwed his eyes shut from the burn of the tequila, he heard Romano’s amused voice. 

“The bastard has no shame.” 

“Stop, Romano!” Italy responded, sounding unusually flustered. 

“Come on! You were licking your- ow!” 

Germany opened his eyes, coughing. He could see that Spain was chiding Romano about something, but he was unable to hear what. The cough passed, and Germany could see that Italy had a fierce blush on his face. “What’s wrong?” 

Italy laughed nervously. “Nothing.” 

An uncharacteristically smug smirk found its way to Germany’s face. “I know exactly what your problem is.” He leaned toward Italy slightly. In his inebriated state, he found it difficult to maintain space between them. 

There was only the crackling of the campfire as Italy swallowed. “What?” 

“You’re worried that I can hold my liquor better than you!” Germany declared, sitting back as he held back his impulses. 

Japan sighed heavily. 

“Damn it.” Seborga muttered. 

Italy’s mouth split into a grin as he took another shot, his nose wrinkling with the bitter taste. “There. Did it!” 

“Hmm... not bad.” Germany allowed. “Seborga. Give me the tequila.” 

“Hey hey, this is Truth or dare or drink. Not drink.. and drink and drink and drink.” Seborga protested with a grin. “Besides, I’m still way too sober for a drinking competition.” 

“Plus,” Japan added. “You’ve already taken three shots, Germany. Anything more before the alcohol really hits is too dangerous.”

Germany grunted. He was looking forward to a drinking competition. “Fine. Who hasn’t gone yet?” 

“I haven’t.” Japan volunteered. “But Mr. Seborga hasn’t either. Or Mr. Romano.” 

“Seborga, please!” Seborga protested. “We’re all friends here, Japan!” 

“Okay...” Germany looked at all three of the nations, wondering which one to pick on first. His gaze landed on Japan. Japan would likely be most comfortable with Germany daring him... or truthing him. “Japan. Truth, or dare?” 

“Truth.” Japan answered.

Germany hummed. “What’s your favorite breed of dog?” 

“That’s a shitty question!” Romano protested. 

Germany sighed. “There's no such thing as a shitty dog-related question. And I’m not going to ask him anything bad, he’s the only one of us three not wasted. He’s officially our designated driver.” 

“Yes!” Italy sat up straight and pointed at Japan, his flush more evident now. “Designated driver! Japan, you’re officially designated! I designated you!” 

Germany scoffed. “I designated him first,” 

“Well I was the one who pointed! Look!” Italy pointed his finger again, demonstrating. 

“Nice pointing, bro. I’ve never been more proud.” Despite the deadpan tone of Seborga’s voice, he had his usual grin. 

Italy gave Seborga a heartfelt smile. “Aww... Seborga!” 

“Oh God, he thinks you’re being serious.” Romano shook his head.

Germany’s focus was honed in. He desperately needed an answer. “Favorite dog, Japan, don’t try to avoid it.” 

“Shiba Inu. Easy.” Japan answered. 

Germany nodded sagely. “Ja... I like German shepherds.” 

“Of course you do, you egomaniac.” Romano muttered. 

Germany frowned. “South Italy, you’re mean to me... maybe you need a dog. Dogs make people happy. I have three. Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster. Do you have any pets?” 

Romano raised his eyebrows. “The kraut’s cracked.” 

“Not crack.” Germany raised his empty shot glass and gave it a helpful little wiggle. “Alcohol.” He snorted. 

Italy joined him, chortling. “Nice one.” 

Seborga, Japan, and Spain laughed along, though their laughter was more directed at the nations than the pitiful joke. 

“I suppose I have to go again.” Japan realized after the laughter had died down. “Romano.” 

“Oh, God.” 

“Truth, or dare?” 

“Truth.” 

“Um...” 

Romano raised an eyebrow. 

“What is your favorite dog?” 

Italy laughed unnecessarily hard at this. 

“Really? It’s finally my turn, and you don’t even have a good one!” 

“I’m better at dares.” Japan admitted. 

“Fine then. Dare.” 

Japan hummed, thinking. “Give Germany a hug.” 

Romano knocked back a shot without hesitation. He coughed at the taste, not even chiding Spain as he reached over and patted him on the back. “That’s disgusting.” 

“But effective, right?” Spain said. 

Romano ignored him. “Okay, Seborga. You’re all who’s left.” 

“Ah, so you saved the best for last!” He winked. 

“Oh, God. Truth, or dare?” 

“Truth.” Seborga decided. 

Romano sat up. “You were the fucker who stole my favorite tie in 1894, weren’t you?” 

Seborga laughed. “You’re still on that?” 

“You bet your saggy ass I’m still on that!” 

“Then yes, I was.” 

“Son of a bitch!” Romano lurched forward, stumbling over his steps as he attempted to tackle Seborga. 

“Whoa, whoa, ‘Mano! Watch the fire!” Spain grabbed Romano by the hood of his jacket, pulling him backward. 

Romano stumbled over his own feet, landing in Spain’s lap. “Fuck you.” He muttered. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Spain smiled down at the man in his lap. 

Romano curled into himself, tucking his head into the crook of Spain’s neck. “Goddamn... I could’ve taken him. Fucking pussy-ass bitch. Coulda’ done it.” 

Seborga was doubled over, laughing so hard that his voice was reduced to a wheeze. 

“Of course you could, Romano.” Spain encouraged, failing to keep from giggling. 

“I hear you, bastard.” Despite his words, he stayed in his position. The circle around the fire was small, so Germany was able to hear as Romano sniffed deeply, followed by a satisfied hum. 

Spain giggled, tightening his hold around his boyfriend. 

“Aww, how sweet!” Seborga cooed with a wicked smile on his face. 

Romano said nothing, instead choosing to wiggle his arm out of Spain’s hold and flip Seborga the bird. 

Germany turned as Italy started laughing beside him. He found himself smiling at the blush on Italy’s cheeks. He mused that Italy looked sweet when he was tipsy. Germany on the other hand knew that his entire face, neck, and even his ears were covered with an intense blush whenever he drank. And shots? Shots were something else. 

“Okay, and we’re back full circle.” Seborga said. “We should probably take a break so the shots will finally catch up to everyone. Then we can start the drinking competition!” 

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Japan advised. “I would advise a four shot limit.” 

Italy gasped. “Japan, you’re so sweet! Look at you, taking care of us!” He leaned over and wrapped his arms around Japan in a hug. Or he would have, had Japan not reached forward and caught Italy’s forehead in his hand. 

“Not around the fire, Italy.” 

Italy slumped down in the sand with a pitiful groan. “But Japan, I want a hug!” 

“I’d give you a hug, Italy.” Spain volunteered. “But I’m already holding someone.” 

“It’s not holding, bastard.” Romano protested. “I'm using you as a chair.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Italy grunted, sitting up. “Fine.” 

Germany reached over and ruffled Italy’s hair. “It’s okay. Maybe they’ll let you give hugs when you’re sober.” 

Italy looked over to him. “I’m already sober!” 

“This is sober?” Germany asked. 

“Yup!” 

Germany found himself loosening up quite a bit, not caring as he started laughing. “You’re about as sober as Romano.” 

“Fuck you.” Romano replied, burrowing himself further in Spain’s arms. 

Germany snorted again. The tequila was definitely hitting. “Like you could.” He muttered with a slight smile.

“Like I’d want to.” Romano replied without hesitation. 

Japan’s eyes widened at Germany’s response.

“Holy hell.” Spain giggled. “That’s out of character, Germany!” 

“Germany, how long has it been since you took your first shot?” Seborga asked. 

Germany just shrugged with a smile. He thought of how he probably looked. He imagined that the next day Sober Germany would want to come back and strangle drunk Germany. Well fuck sober Germany! Germany looked up as there was laughter sounding around the campfire. “Why are you laughing?” 

“Because you just said ‘fuck sober Germany’!” Italy explained with a laugh.

Germany looked down at the sand. “I did?” That was out loud?

Japan nodded, laughing. "You had a lot of conviction, too. It is good to see you so passionate about this." 

“Well however long ago it was, Seborga,” Spain began. “I think it’s been long enough. The shots have finally hit.” 

“Finally!” Seborga refilled his shot glass, taking it without a struggle. He downed a second one, then a third. “Wait, is it even a drinking competition with a four shot limit?” 

“At this point it’s laughing at drunkenness.” Germany decided.

Japan nodded. “Much safer. Not safe, but safer.” 

“Seborga! Pass the tequila!” Italy reached his arm forward and made a grabbing motion. 

Seborga tossed over the bottle. 

Italy caught it, unscrewing the cap. 

“How is it you’re more coordinated when you’re drunk than when you’re sober?” Germany asked. 

Italy beamed at him as he poured another shot. “I told you, Germany, I’m still sober!” He didn’t notice as he overfilled his shot glass, causing tequila to spill over his hand. 

Japan reached over and took the bottle from Italy. “That’s enough for you...” 

Italy pouted, but he downed another shot. 

Germany tried not to stare at Italy’s neck as he swallowed the shot. Tried not to think about how much he would like to lean over and mark it... mark Italy... He blinked. That would be nice... to just lean over and kiss his neck. Wouldn’t that be nice? 

“Germany?” 

Germany blinked again, shocked out of his stupor. He nodded, realizing he had been staring at Italy. _“Ja.”_

Italy raised an eyebrow as he giggled. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” 

Germany nodded again. 

“Oh God, they’re hopeless.” Spain laughed. 

“Can I take my last shot now?” Germany pleaded, tuning out Spain. 

Japan furrowed his brow, handing Germany the bottle. “Just one, then I get the bottle back. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“Promise?” Japan asked. 

Germany cracked a smile. “You’re nice, Japan. It’s because you have a dog, isn’t it?” 

“Nooo!” Italy protested, drawing out the word. “He’s jus’ a nice person!” His words were starting to slur. 

Germany nodded sagely, considering Japan with seriousness. “ _Ja_... Japan, you’re nice.” 

Japan cracked a smile. “Thank you. Now do you promise just one shot?” 

“Of course I promise!” Germany said. “A German is worth nothing if he’s not worth his honor.” 

Romano stirred, looking at Germany. “No, a German is just worth nothing.” 

Germany sighed, choosing not to say anything. He was just concentrating on pouring his shot. The tequila came out of the bottle in a thin trickle. He held the glass up to eye level. 

Seborga snorted, his ears turning red. “Need some help there, Germany?” 

“Mm-mm.” He straightened the bottle. It looked like a shot, right? After a moment of consideration, he poured a final splash in the glass. “Done.” 

“Finally! I thought we’d be sitting here forever!” Spain laughed. “Can I have some of that?” 

Germany looked to Japan for permission. 

Japan nodded. 

“Okay.” Germany handed Spain the bottle, Spain shifting Romano in his arms as he reached forward and grabbed it. 

Germany took his shot, the alcohol taking effect much faster than the other shots had. He suspected it was already the drink taking effect, and he found himself letting loose high-pitch giggles. He felt funny. He had been drunk before, he’d been drunk many times. He was a nation, after all. But it always felt outrageous!

“Wha’ isit, Germany?” Italy asked. As his words slurred, his Italian accent became thicker. Like he was stuck somewhere between Italian and English. 

Germany chortled. “I dunno’.” 

Italy joined in his drunken laughter, leaning against Germany. 

Germany hissed in a breath, pulling away. “Ow!” 

“Wha’s wrong?” 

Germany looked at Italy apologetically. “Shoulder hurts.” 

“I’m sorry... I fer-got ‘bout your sunburn.” Italy said. “Here, make it better!” He leaned forward and gave Germany’s shoulder a little kiss before pulling away. “There! Fixed it!” 

Germany’s eyes widened, his blush returning full force.

“Is that really the best you can do, fratello?” Seborga challenged. 

“Huh?” Italy asked. 

“I dare you to kiss Germany!” 

Germany turned. “Huh?” 

Romano opened his eyes and snickered. 

Japan peered over at Seborga, looking fully engrossed, if not concerned at the exchange.

“I jus’ kissed ‘im!” Italy said. 

“I mean a mouth kiss, silly.” Seborag clarified, leaning forward. 

Germany’s jaw dropped. “A what?” 

“What’s a kiss between bros? Besides, you’re already at your four shot limit, Germany. You can’t refuse!” 

With his drunken logic, Germany realized Seborga was right. He then decided that even if he hadn’t reached his four shot limit, he wouldn’t have refused. However, he wasn’t sure how comfortable Italy was with this. He looked at Japan for help, already knowing he wasn’t going to get it. 

Japan gave him a shrug with a small smile. Of course. 

Germany looked over to Italy, surprised at the look he saw from him. He saw a serene smile on his face. He was looking at Germany with heavily-lidded eyes. “I’m up for it if youare... I think I’ve reached my limit on shots.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “I outdrank you?” 

Italy nodded. “So, you up for it?” 

“It’s not like I can refuse.” Germany said. 

Italy’s face fell. 

Germany panicked. He didn’t mean it like that, he was telling the truth! That didn’t mean he didn’t want to kiss Italy, heaven knew he wanted to for the past several decades! He managed to screw up this opportunity, too? “No, tha’- tha’s not what I meant, I... _ja_ , let’s just do it. Get it done.” 

Italy smiled a bit. He leaned forward. 

Germany leaned forward also. It was a little awkward, what with sitting on the sand and leaning forward, not touching each other, but it was a first kiss. It was supposed to be awkward. And Germany was ready. He was so damn ready. And now when his inhibitions weren’t around... they were so close. He was about to close his eyes, when Italy stopped. 

Italy’s eyes widened, his face paling before he leaned to the side and vomited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF. Bad luck, Italy.
> 
> Romano is a cuddly drunk, and you cannot convince me otherwise. 
> 
> Folks, I can't imagine Germany being DRUNK drunk. So I tried to make him a little more loosey-goosey without being super OOC. I apologize for that disaster.


	15. Japan the Mom Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Japan attempts to get his friends home successfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story about sitting under a sun-brella and somehow burning. Happened to me. I'm just super white, folks.

They were in Seborga’s living room. Italy was laying on the couch as Japan was rummaging around doing... something. Germany didn’t know what. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the bookshelf. Spain and Romano were sharing an easy chair, Romano curled in exactly the same position he was in when they were back on the beach. He was in Spain's lap, his breaths slow and quiet. He looked about ready to fall asleep. Seborga was in the kitchen, geting Italy a glass of water and some crackers. 

Seborga returned, kneeling down and smoothing Italy’s hair back. “How you feeling, Italy?” Germany was certain that the tequila had hit Seborga, but the three shots appeared to have just made him tipsy. 

Germany mused that Seborga was right. He really could handle his alcohol.

Italy sat up to take the glass of water. “Shitty.” 

“No wonder.” Romano said from Spain’s lap. “You just puked up tequila.” 

“Be nice.” Germany ordered, looking over at Romano. 

“He’s fine, Germany.” Italy soothed, sipping gingerly on the water. 

Romano shook his head, looking surprisingly concerned. “I shouldn’t have let you drink that much.” 

“Iss okay, Romano.” Italy slurred, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m an adult.” 

“Well I’m your older brother.” Romano protested. “Taking care of you is my job. No matter how much I don’t want it.” Despite his words, Romano said this with a kind of softness that was seldom heard from him.

“Tha’s sweet.” Italy said, setting the glass of water on the side table and laying back down. “I feel... a lil’ better now, havin’ all that outta’ my system.” 

Japan rounded the couch, looking down at Italy. “If you feel well enough, you can go back to your house. Sorry I took so long, I had to hide Spain’s car keys.” 

“Hey!” Spain protested. 

Japan turned to him. “You shouldn’t be driving in this state.” 

“Seborga, tell him! I’m fine!” 

Seborga straightened, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? I helped him.” 

Spain stroked his boyfriend’s hair, looking for an ally. “Romano, tell your brother. I’m fine!” 

Romano scoffed. “Are you kidding? I’m not doing jack shit. You may sound sober, but you had a tequila shot. You’re staying the night.” 

“What will the boss say?” 

Romano turned his head to look up at Spain. “Wha’ would the boss say if I told him you died? And wha’ would you say when you fin’lly regenerated and you had lotsa’ paperwork? You’d say: ‘Mano, you shouldnta’ let me do that’. Then I’d have to listen to you whine all day.” 

Spain huffed out a sigh. “Fine.” 

“Le’s go home.” Italy said, sitting up. “Lil’ help, Seborga?” 

Seborga leaned over, allowing Italy to sling an arm around his shoulders. The two straightened, Seborga looking expectantly at Germany. “Y’want to take him?” 

Germany straightened, pausing for a moment as he got dizzy. _“Ja.”_ He went over to the two brothers. 

Italy took his arm back from Seborga, falling forward into Germany’s chest. He gave a satisfied sigh, burrowing his forehead in Germany’s shirt as he wrapped his arms around his waist. “I wanna’ go home.” 

Germany’s arm came up around his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Can you walk?” 

Italy nodded, his forehead not leaving Germany’s chest. “Mm-hmm.” 

“You ready to go, Japan?” 

Japan nodded. He stuck a hand out for Seborga to shake. “Thank you for hosting us.” 

Seborga shook it with a friendly grin. “No problem, Japan! It was a great time! We should do this again.” 

To Germany’s amazement, Japan gave Seborga a close-mouthed smile. “I think I would like that.” 

Romano reached forward and tugged on the back of Japan’s sweatshirt. “Hey. Bastard.” 

Japan hummed as he turned around. 

“Take care of my fratello and the Potato...” He frowned as he tried to come up with a creative insult. “Face.”

“I will. Germany, are you good to stay at Italy’s house? I should head back to my house.” 

Germany nodded, starting the trek out of Seborga’s home. “Thank you for having us.” 

“Of course!” Seborga ruffled Italy’s hair, Italy leaning into his touch. “Try not to get into too much trouble, okay? I won’t be there to enjoy it.” 

Italy giggled drunkenly. “No promises.” 

They left the house, Germany sighing with relief as the cold air soothed his sore skin. He had no idea how burnt he was. He didn’t even know how he got sunburnt. He’d spent the entire day under a sun-brella, slathering himself in sunscreen constantly. He opened the car door for Italy, sliding in the back seat after him without thought. 

Italy stopped in the middle seat, grunting as he struggled to fasten the seatbelt. 

Germany reached over and clicked the seatbelt shut for him. 

“Thank you, Germany!” 

Germany grunted, shutting the door and buckling his own seatbelt. 

Japan slid in the front seat, peering back at them through the rearview mirror. “Do you need anything? Water? Does anyone need to throw up before we go?” He shut his door. 

“Just air conditioning. Please.” Germany requested. He was answered with a cool breeze, leaning his head against the seat with relief. He hated getting sunburnt. Though he hadn’t seen himself, he was sure he was at least burnt enough to peel later. He cringed. He hated peeling. As they started down the driveway, Germany spread his left arm over the top of the seats in an attempt to cool himself off. 

They were only a couple minutes down the road when Italy’s light snoring filled the car. 

Germany peered over, shaking his head. He found that the corners of his mouth were lifting. He too leaned his head back and shut his eyes, opening them as he felt a weight against his chest. Looking down, he smiled as he saw it was Italy’s head. He tilted his head back again, and fell asleep. 

_He was so desperately tired. But his desire to wake up was almost as fierce. He stirred, frowning. His mouth and throat were so dry. He was so hungry. And... his joints hurt. He could almost compare it to if he was a rusted robot trying to move._

_“Ludwig.” Said a gritty voice._

_Ludwig? Who was Ludwig? Was that him? His eyelids were heavy. As if they were weighed down with paperweights. With great effort, he opened them. His eyes were blurred. He was clearly in a room that was warmly lit, probably with sunlight. By his bed was a white and navy blue blur. He blinked hard, his vision slowly clearing. He looked over to the blur. It was... a man. His hair was white like snow. His eyes were violet. He was clad in what looked like a navy vest over a white shirt, with a pair of navy slacks. Though he figured he should have been scared of this strange man, he couldn’t find it within himself to be afraid. Something drew him to this guy._

_“Who-” He started coughing. His throat was so dry that the words caught on themselves._

_The man looked at him pityingly, grabbing a glass of water off the nightstand and handing it to him._

_He lifted his arms with difficulty, grabbing the glass and desperately gulping it down. He cleared his throat again. “Who are you?” His voice was raspy. Like it hadn’t been used in a while._

_“I’m Gilbert.” The man said with a kind, soft smile. “Before anything else, I’m your big brother. But I’m also the pers-” He faltered, frowning in thought. “I’m the country of Prussia.”_

_He frowned. Big brother? He had a big brother? And he was... a country? Was that right? Maybe he misunderstood. “... Who am I?”_

_“You are Ludwig.” Prussia leaned forward. “First and foremost, you’re my little brother. But you’re also,” here he reached forward. German felt a hand on his shoulder. “The country of –”_

“Germany.” 

Germany opened his eyes, hissing in a breath. Japan was sitting in the front seat, his arm outstretched to Germany’s shoulder. He ignored the pain. “Japan?”

Japan had a concerned frown. “Germany, are you okay?” 

“Fine.” He rotated his head on his neck. It felt sore. “’Membered something.” 

“Hmm.” Japan still looked concerned, but apparently he decided not to breach the subject. “We’re here.” 

Germany nodded, bringing his arm down from the top of the car seats to tap Italy’s shoulder. “Italy. Get up.” 

Italy stirred. “No.” 

Germany let his arm rest around Italy’s shoulders. “You’re home.” 

“Home?” He lifted his head. “Mm. _Ciao_ , Japan.” 

“Hello, Italy. Let’s get you inside.” Japan opened the door to the car, stepping out. 

With a sigh, Germany opened his own door. He just wanted to go inside and sleep. It was unusual that he thought of that memory, but not enough to where he felt like pondering it. It was his earliest memory. It was his birth as a new country. Obviously it wasn’t.. maybe it wasn’t... but this was the first time in years that he thought about it. As he tried to step out of the car, he realized that he forgot to undo his seatbelt. He grunted and undid his seatbelt, undoing Italy’s while he was at it. “Come on,” 

Italy nodded and crawled out of the car, holding out his arm for Germany to take. 

Germany leaned forward and grasped it, pulling Italy up and out. He continued to hold onto it as the three of them walked up the steps to Italy’s house. Germany walked Italy over the placemat.

“Germany. Shoes.” Japan reminded him, toeing off his own. 

Germany didn’t bother to untie his, just kicking them lazily off his feet. Italy did the same. 

The two stumbled back toward the bedroom, Japan following close behind. He stopped them before they were about to fall into bed, however. 

“Wait. Brush your teeth first.” 

“Do we have to?” Italy whined. “’M so tired...” 

“You will thank me tomorrow.” Japan insisted. “Drink plenty of water after you’re done.” 

Germany just grunted and followed Japan’s orders, shuffling to the bathroom. Italy followed reluctantly behind. Germany flicked on the light to the double vanity, his mouth gaping as he saw himself in the mirror. His face, his neck, his shoulders, even the front of his legs were bright red. Grimacing, he reached up and shifted the strap of his top to the left. The skin underneath was still pasty white. He groaned. 

Italy was cringing at the sight as well. “You can get some aloe on that tomorrow.” 

Germany nodded, grimacing as he reached up in the cabinet for his toothbrush. His skin just felt so tight. “Okay. Let’s just get to bed. Tired.” 

Italy was already brushing his teeth, his eyes half-closed. The two finished quickly after gulping down several mouthfuls of water, shuffling back in the room and immediately over to the bed. They lazily lifted the covers, barely even bothering to cover their feet before they gave up. 

Germany smiled slightly as he felt the covers slide up. He was about to complain about the blankets touching his shoulders before the blankets adjusted. He sighed. Japan was a saint. _“Danke.”_

“You’re welcome.” If Germany’s eyes were open, he would see that Japan was smiling down at them. “Get some sleep.”

“Mm...” Italy replied, already falling asleep. 

Germany heard Japan’s footsteps walking over the bedroom carpet as his mind began going blank.

Germany woke, his head pounding. His throat dry. He kept his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t have to throw up, thank God, but he still felt terrible. He lay in bed for a moment, wondering if some headache medicine and a glass of water was worth it to get out of bed. He took a deep breath and summoned the courage to open his eyes. He regretted it immediately. Though the amount of sunlight that filtered into Italy’s room was usually pleasant, it pierced his eyes and pounded against his skull like a sledgehammer. He groaned and looked around, though, his gaze stopping on two glasses of water on the side table. Nestled between them was a bottle of headache medication, several granola bars, and a box of crackers. He thanked whatever deity was up there for Japan, reaching over Italy’s sleeping form to gulp down half the glass. He swished the last gulp around his mouth and his teeth in an attempt to get rid of the morning taste. He would brush his teeth... later. Now he felt like hell. 

Japan was an angel, honestly. Germany was glad Japan made them brush his teeth before they went to bed. He reached over and grabbed the headache pills, knocking one back with another gulp of water. He set the glass down, cringing as it stretched his tender pink skin. He lay back down, pushing the covers off his shoulders as he waited for the medicine to kick in. He closed his eyes. The memory of last night’s dream came back to him. He grit his teeth in frustration. He’s been trying in vain to get more memories from his past, but for nothing. Was his first memory as Germany really all he could get? It was maddening. His scowl loosened. Maybe he just wasn’t meant to remember. He flashed back to what Italy said. He wasn’t Holy Rome. He just wasn’t. That was something he struggled with. He was so confused. His first instinct was to call himself Holy Rome, but what was now Germany’s territory was only a small fragment of where Holy Rome was. So perhaps that just meant that only a fraction of him was Holy Rome. Perhaps Germany was just... Germany. With some parts of Holy Rome. Goosebumps riddled his arms and legs, his sunburn’s sensitivity to the cold sending chills down his body. He pulled the covers up, ignoring the bite of the fabric on his skin. 

He kept thinking. He wasn’t mad at Prussia. Not in the least. Not anymore. Looking back, what Prussia did was probably exactly what Germany would have done. It’s as he said, there was no guidebook for that sort of thing. He opened his eyes, cringing slightly at the brightness. He wished he had handled it differently, actually. He wish he could take back that entire conversation. Maybe just have a calm talk with his brother. He yawned. Oh well, hindsight’s 20/20. The important thing was that he would fix it whenever he went home. He had two more days here with Italy. He was going to enjoy them. 

Italy stirred next to him, stretching out and yawning. “ _Dio_ , my head.” 

Germany was glad to hear that the slur in Italy’s words had passed. “Don’t open your eyes. It’s bright in here.” His voice was gravelly. 

Italy frowned, but he kept his eyes closed. “I’m so thirsty.” 

Germany reached over, grabbing Italy’s glass of water. “Here. Japan left this last night.” 

“Thank God for Japan.” Italy muttered, gulping down the water. 

“Save some, he also left headache medication.” 

“Aleve?” Italy asked. 

Germany nodded, then remembered that Italy couldn’t see him. “Yes.” 

Italy hummed sadly. “Aleve doesn’t work with me.” 

Germany raised an eyebrow. That was new. “It doesn’t? Why is it in your house?” 

“For guests.” 

Germany hummed. “That’s unfortunate.” 

“Yes.” Italy sipped down the rest of his water. “Japan’s too good for us, huh?” His voice was abnormally subdued from his headache. 

Germany noticed this and furrowed his brow. Just Italy’s luck that he would get hammered and not be affected by headache medicine. “You really hurt.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Italy lay his forearm over his eyes. 

“I know a couple good hangover cures. Be right back.” Germany volunteered, throwing off the covers. 

“Oh, don’t, Germany. I don’t want your hangover to get worse.” Italy gripped Germany’s hand. 

Germany looked back at Italy. He looked so pitiful, laying in bed like this. “I took some medicine. I’ll be fine. Stay in bed, lay down. I’ll refill your water.” 

“Oh, thank you. I was hoping you felt well enough to help me.” Italy admitted, holding out his glass with a slight smile. 

“Mm-hmm. Do you feel sick?” 

Italy nodded. “I’m not even hungry.” 

“Not even hungry? The world’s at an end.” Germany joked absently, his mind turning over hangover cures.

Italy allowed a smile. 

“I’ll be back with something to help you with that.” 

“Thank you.” 

Germany left the room, pacing in the kitchen. He’d helped his brother and himself through many hangovers, so he knew exactly what to do. A memory was fresh from the Halloween celebration they had a few years ago. Austria, Italy, Hungary, and Japan had crashed at his and Prussia’s place. Prussia was the only one left standing, so he had taken the liberty of preparing them all ginger tea to help with the nausea. Germany cut an orange and a lemon, waiting for the water to boil as he checked the news feeds on his phone. He got a text from Japan. 

_Good morning. How are you and Italy?_

Germany sent a reply. _Up and moving, thanks to you._

Germany poured the boiling tea in a teacup for Italy, refilling Italy’s water glass. His phone pinged. 

_No trouble at all. Anything I can do?_

Germany shook his head. Japan’s patience and kindness amazed him sometimes. _Nothing more than you have already done. I’m helping Italy now._

_Good. Make sure to drink plenty of water._

Germany was squeezing orange and lemon juice into the tea, but he replied as soon as he rinsed off his hands. _Got it. Thank you, Japan._

He was about to rummage around the kitchen for honey, when a question entered his mind. 

_Hey,_ he texted. _Where did you end up hiding Spain’s keys?_

He stirred the tea in the coffee cup, grabbing a banana. He searched the cabinets for a tray to carry Italy’s things. He found one, shaking his head at the ornate silver handles. He began setting everything on the tray, opening his phone as it pinged. 

_In a Ziplock in the downstairs toilet tank._

Germany smiled to himself. He pocketed the phone, carrying the tray to the hall bath. He opened the medicine cabinet and poured two Tums onto the tea saucer. He took a couple himself, hoping to ease the queasiness. As he was putting up the bottle, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and frowned. His skin was starting to peel. Not too terribly, just enough to notice. He sighed. He hoped that he would be able to get aloe on it before it got too bad. Oh well. He picked up the tray and left, pacing quietly back in the bedroom. He sat the tray on Italy’s lap. “Don’t open your eyes yet, let me shut the windows.” 

“Okay.” 

Germany went around the room, shutting the windows and drawing the blinds over the glass balcony doors. The room was submerged in darkness, so it took a couple minutes for Germany’s eyes to adjust. “Okay, you can open.” Germany instructed as he sat on the bed. 

Italy opened his eyes, stretching. He looked down at the tray, slowly leaning forward and setting it by his side. He sat up at a snail’s pace, cradling his head with a hand. “Last night was a bad idea.” 

Germany shook his head. All the stupid stuff he did and said came rushing back to him. “I wish I could forget.” Suddenly, he remembered that he and Italy had almost kissed... in front of everyone. God, what a sorry lapse of judgement. At least Italy’s nausea had worked to their advantage at that moment.

“Aww, don’t be upset, Germany!” Italy shut his eyes again, waiting for the pain to pass. “You were funny! But not in a humiliating way.” 

“Hm, not true.” Germany cleared his throat, hoping to move the conversation away from his embarrassment. “The ginger tea is to help with nausea. So you should probably drink that first. The water and honey in it will help with your head. Just have a bit of honey every twenty minutes, and your headache should be less severe. The banana is for potassium, and the Tums will help your stomach.” 

Italy sighed, opening his eyes. “You’re a lifesaver, Germany.” He looked at him, cringing. “Ooh, your sunburn...” 

“I know. It’s terrible, isn’t it?” 

Italy nodded, reaching forward. 

Germany batted his hand away. “What are you doing?” 

“You know I like to take off peeling skin!” 

“I know. It’s disgusting.” 

Italy shook his head, then grimaced in pain. “Ooh. No, it’s satisfying.” 

“Whatever. Drink your tea.” 

Italy obeyed, lifting the cup and gingerly taking a sip. 

“Where’s your aloe?” 

“Master bath, upper left of the cabinet.” 

“Thanks.” Germany stood, pacing to the bathroom. He found the bottle, sighing as he rubbed the green gel over his sunburn. Finally, some relief. And knowing him, he wouldn’t even benefit from this. His burn wouldn’t fade into a tan, it would just peel right off him. He finished, slightly disgusted by the sticky residue left on his skin. He sucked it up and went back to the bedroom. 

The day continued this way. Italy’s stomach eventually felt good enough for bananas and clear broths. By the end of the day (after many naps) his headaches went away and he was able to stomach a proper dinner. Germany had tried to sweat out the residual alcohol through a workout, but found that anything he tried to do agitated his sunburn too much. Even the force from his feet hitting the ground prevented him from taking an easy jog. So, Germany did what he was worst at. Nothing. Well, he took care of Italy and nursed him back to health. While rebounding from a hangover was a minor trifle for Germany, it appeared that it was a taller order for Italy. By the end of the day, they were both sure that they would recover enough by next morning to go somewhere.   
That evening after a delicious meal followed by some heated rounds of Mario Kart, they settled under the covers. Germany was well aware that the guest room was empty now that Japan was gone. But he didn’t mention this, hoping that Italy wouldn’t notice. He appeared not to as they lay next to each other, both facing the ceiling. 

“Tomorrow is my last day here.” He observed, rather disappointed.

“Mm-hmm.” Italy nodded. He looked over to Germany, a small smile on his face. “What do you want to do?” 

Germany looked back. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to beat Rome... don’t tell Seborga I told you.” 

Italy chuckled quietly. “No guarantees.” 

“Traitor.” He replied with a smile. As Italy’s laughs quietened, he thought. “I want you to choose what we do. What am I missing in the true Italian experience?” 

“Hmm... I think I need to take you to see the world’s most beautiful sunset.” Italy answered after some thought. 

“The sunset is the same everywhere, though.” 

Italy shook his head in protest. “The sun in Italy is more passionate... it burns brighter and slower. Almost like when it goes down, it’s kissing the world goodnight.” 

“You read too many books.” Was all Germany said. 

“Maybe you don’t read enough.” Italy replied, smiling. He yawned, turning over. “Goodnight, Germany.” 

“, Italy.” Germany turned over on his side, his back facing Italy. Italy was doing something over there, but he didn’t know what. He thought about how much he wanted to turn over and face him. To maybe just reach over and touch him. 

But Germany continued to face away from Italy, alone and wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, updates will be SUPER inconsistent. My semester in college finished, so now I have very few excuses to go on my computer and update. So.. sorry, folks. Once I get my computer back, you won't be able to freaking stop me.


	16. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italy wakes Germany for their last day of vacation. What exactly does he have in store?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me actually updating my freaking fic? It's more likely than you think.

Germany heard the blaring of an alarm clock. He grunted, sitting up and swatting his hand over the right side of the bed with the expectation of stopping the ringing. It was then that he realized he was at Italy’s house still. The ringing stopped a moment later. He grunted, turning over to Italy. “You set an alarm?” He asked, his voice raspy. 

Italy nodded, throwing his forearm over his eyes. “Bad idea.” 

“Why did you do it, then?” Germany shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Because I wanted enough time for us to make breakfast and enjoy the sunrise.” Italy answered. “I wanted you to enjoy a full day from sunrise to sunset here for your last day, but it was a really bad idea.” Here, he yawned and snuggled up to Germany, throwing an arm over his torso. “Let’s just go back to sleep...” 

Germany shook his head, his tired mind unable to comprehend Italy’s touch. He wouldn’t be able to sleep now. “You already committed, we have to get up.” 

“But Germany-” 

Germany was already up, the sunburn on his shoulders complaining as he threw off the covers. 

“Come back! It’s cold in here without you!” 

“No. I’m going to see the sunrise.” Germany left for the kitchen with the intention to make a pot of instant coffee. He pulled down the ingredients. As the pot brewed, he reached back to the coffee cabinet and pulled down Italy’s absurd collection of coffee memorabilia. He tried to remember how Italy did it. He was fiddling with the bean grinder trying to remember out how it worked as he heard feet slapping against the tile. 

“It’s okay, Germany, I’ve got it.” 

“Good. I wasn’t able to figure it out.” 

Italy came up and wrapped his arms around Germany’s waist in a hug. “Thank you for trying.” 

_“Ja, ja.”_ Germany awkwardly returned the hug. With the amount of... physical touching that had been happening recently, perhaps he should have had an easier time with this sort of thing, but he found that he still tended to freeze up in moments like this. 

Italy straightened, brushing past Germany to his precious coffee equipment. “Now. Coffee.” 

“Coffee. I’ll get started on breakfast.” 

“Hey, Germany.” Italy began hopefully. “Since it’s a special day, can we have pasta for breakfast?” 

“No.” Answered Germany without hesitation. 

Italy gave a half-shrug with a grin. “Worth a shot.” 

Germany found himself with a slight smile at Italy’s attempt. No matter how much had changed these past few days, there were some things that just stayed the same. 

Fifteen minutes later, everything was finished. Germany had made them a simple breakfast of omelets with a side of fresh cut fruit. Italy had made coffee. They retrieved their jackets and prepared to leave for the frigid autumn morning. They stepped out, Italy’s lawn submerged in darkness. As they rounded the house, Germany noticed that petals from Italy’s flowers were falling off the bushes and onto the ground. So fall was finally coming to Italy. They rounded the side of the house, facing the patio in Italy’s backyard. There was an arrangement of black metal chairs and a table, with orange outdoor cushions on the seats. A sun-brella was currently folded closed. The patio was framed with rounded bushes, trimmed to perfection. In the distance, Germany could see a few lights illuminated in the city at the base of the hill. Even before the sun had risen, the view was beautiful. 

The two sat in silence, waiting for the sun to peek over the horizon and greet them. Germany sipped on his coffee, gazing as the sky was tinged with a soft, cotton candy pink. This was followed by a fiery orange, reflecting off the clouds in a soft tangerine that illuminated his surroundings. Finally, the sun was visible over the distant rolling hills. Germany was astounded by the light spilling through the crevices between the mounds, shining on the reflective glass and metal of the city. The natural beauty clashing with artificial. As the sun slowly rose, the caffeine kicked in and Germany was fully up. Down in the city, lights were starting to turn on. The city was waking with the sun. By the time the sun was up in the sky, the dew resting on the grass was fully visible. The flowers had opened to appreciate the splendor of the sun. The leaves of the trees were swept in the gentle caress of the wind. 

The beauty was nice, but Germany was still Germany. “Okay.” He swallowed the last bite of his breakfast. “What do we do next?” 

Italy tilted his head back slightly, lifting his face toward the sun. “We enjoy this morning. Just for a few minutes longer.” 

Germany sighed through his nose. Italians. He tried to relax as he listened to the birds sing to each other. He slowly sipped at his coffee, occasionally looking over to Italy to see if he was satisfied. He may have been on vacation, but doing nothing just wasn’t relaxing to him. It made him feel useless and antsy. He shifted in his seat. 

Almost as if he sensed Germany’s discomfort, Italy opened his eyes and looked over at Germany. “Are you done?” 

“Yes. Please.” He sat forward in his seat slightly, trying not to be too obvious about his impatience. 

Italy took a long final sip of his coffee. _“My God, how I love this man.”_ He muttered in Italian with a small smile. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. All he caught was My God. “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing.” He set his coffee cup down on the table. He took in a deep breath, stretching. “Now. I think this afternoon we’ll go to a farmer’s market down in Ravello and explore the village. It’s a beautiful little town. Then we’ll stop back down the street market for dinner. We’ll walk while we eat to the Villa Cimbrone Gardens to watch the world’s most beautiful sunset.” 

“Most of your ideas have to do with food.” Germany observed dryly. 

“Well I’m always hungry!” Italy insisted.

Germany stood, collecting his dishes. “Fair.” 

“But seriously, Germany, does that sound like fun?” Italy asked, gathering his own dishes. 

Germany drank in the view one last time before turning back toward the house. “I said you’re in charge. Crazy as it sounds, I trust you.” 

Italy jostled Germany lightly with his elbow. “Look at you sassing everyone lately! If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re loosening up.”

“Well of course. I am on vacation.” Germany answered, rounding the corner. 

“You don’t fool me for a second. Romano told me that at the beach you were still trying to keep track of global news. You were trying to work out while hungover! You don’t relax.” 

Germany opened the door for Italy, a slight smile on his face. “Well, as the tour guide, perhaps you can get me to relax... at least as much as I can.” 

“Tall order! Never underestimate an Italian’s ability to laze around!” Italy pumped his fist excitedly as he led Germany to the kitchen. “We have to get dressed and get going! Full day ahead!” He dumped his dishes in the sink. 

“The dishwasher is open.” Germany pulled it open. “It’s only half full. Why do you keep dumping your dishes in the sink?” 

“I can get to them later!” Italy answered, waving a dismissive hand. 

Germany shut the dishwasher. Lord, what was he to do with this man? “How much time does it save you to do it later?” 

“None?” Italy asked. 

“Wrong. It takes more time. Because then the food dries on your plate, then you have to scrub at it, then you have to put it in the dishwasher. If you just put it in the dishwasher when you're done, then you actually _save_ time.” Germany rinsed off Italy’s plate and fork, loading them in the dishwasher. He pointed. “See? That took about five seconds of time. There is no reason for you to put it off until later. Just take care of it now, then you have the advantage of a clean kitchen, and saved time that you can use for work. Or fun, in your case.”

There was a long period of silence. 

“... this is going to be harder than I thought.” Italy said, turning back to the bedroom to get some clothes.

“Did you even hear what I said?” Germany called incredulously at Italy’s turned back. 

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the car. Ravello was further up north than Italy’s house, but taking the international road it was obviously a short drive. 

Germany was surprised to see that the drive took around twenty minutes. He speculated that with the sun, the slight breeze in the air, and the beautiful scenery rushing past the car, they were far too busy enjoying the drive to speed toward Ravello. Germany was excited to see that thanks to his accelerated healing abilities as a nation, his sunburn was just reduced to a light pink under his eyes and on the tops of his shoulders. He wasn’t even peeling anymore! Germany was relieved at this fact, because the day before Italy had been sneaking,trying to peel off flakes of skin. He could be so strange sometimes. 

Germany peered through the windshield at bright blue waters in the distance. The ocean. It reflected the beautiful blue sky, the sun crystalizing the rippling surface. It was a little too chilly for a swim at about twenty two degrees Celsius, but it looked inviting all the same. They turned a corner, Germany’s eyebrows raising as he saw the village. Homes in a myriad of colors were stacked across high hills, the rows of houses interrupted by thin, winding streets. The village sprawled across the entire side of the coast, accommodating the natural curvature of the ocean around the hills. The bay in the middle was occupied by small fishing boats, and even a couple of yachts. In various positions of the village- no. City, there were old buildings and ruins. “Oh, wow.” 

“I know, right? I will always love Rome, but Ravello holds a special place in my heart.” 

“How much tourism do you get?” Germany asked. 

Italy shrugged. “Not nearly as much as Rome... Ravello is one of the hidden gems.” 

“Must be _very_ hidden. I don’t see any parking.” 

“Oh.” Italy pointed at a general area up on a hill. “Park up there.” 

“Where?” 

“On a street.” 

Germany sent a level stare in Italy’s direction. “Can you be more specific?” 

Italy shook his head. “Just on the side of the street will do.”

“Fine.” Germany let out a sigh, starting the gradual trip up the hill. 

Italy turned down the music as they drew closer to the houses. Germany noticed that these homes were even prettier up close than afar. Many of them were white or light tan, contrasting with grey, orange, and brown roofs. Flower boxes hanged from the windows, the flowers within still beautiful and reaching up for the sun. He noticed that a couple of them had spices growing up through the dirt, right outside of kitchen windows. In some rare cases, there were thin flower beds bordering the walls. The already thin streets were full of cars parked outside of homes. After about twenty minutes of searching, Germany finally found an empty parking space. It was small. Barely large enough for his car, in fact. But with a little bit of finagling he was able to fit his car in the space. They got out of the car, Germany’s door almost hitting a street sign. The sun was warm, though, and someone was baking fresh bread nearby. He found himself with a content smile as Italy flounced over to him.

“Germany! Did you know Pompeii is nearby? We’re not going to see it, that would be too sad today. But do you think that we could see it next time you come over for vacation?” Italy asked. 

Germany was taken aback. That was a definite invitation. “You want me to come back? For another vacation?” 

“Of course! You’re my friend! My friends are always welcome!”

Germany knew these words were kind. They were words from a friend. Perhaps that’s what made them hurt. Nonetheless, he nodded. “Thank you. I might take you up on that.” 

“Oh, great! There are so many places I haven’t taken you!” 

They started walking as Italy continued. “Like the leaning tower of Pisa, Pompeii, of course... I need to take you to Venice, and to all the beaches!” 

“We just went to one. Aren’t all beaches the same?” Germany asked. 

“Oh, not at all!” Italy looked at him incredulously, shaking his head. 

Germany raised an eyebrow. “Sun, sand, water. That’s all there is to it.” 

Italy shrugged. “I guess you’d have to be an artist to understand.” 

“Well I’m no artist.” 

Italy chuckled, stopping as he took a photo of a particularly beautiful apartment building. The Spanish shingles of the roof glinted in the sunlight, contrasting nicely with the white walls and grey shutters. “Sure you are! You’re good at manga,” 

“Hm.” Germany dismissed. That was really more of a hobby than anything. 

The rest of the morning passed in a similar fashion. His mind kept wandering back to that memory that he had of him and Prussia after he woke for the first time. It wasn’t as if it were anything special. Every nation had memories about when they were first realized. Perhaps it was just these recent secrets about his identity... or maybe it wasn’t really his identity. He wasn’t sure what the answer was, still. Yesterday while he had been taking care of Italy, he pondered on it more. When he was helping Italy to the couch, when he was making clear broth for him... he considered who he once could have been. And he thought about what that could mean for Italy. 

He considered all that had happened between them recently. Germany was no idiot. He was socially and emotionally inept, but he wasn’t an idiot. He was aware that there was mutual attraction. He was aware that perhaps Italy even had feelings for Germany. But, if he were to admit it to himself, he was... nervous. No, not afraid. It would make no sense for him to be afraid. Him, a great nation. One born in war. One who thrived ever since day one. The epitome of order, pursuer of perfection. There was no way he was scared of something as inconsequential as emotion or attraction... of love. No, surely not. He was just nervous. 

Germany glanced over at Italy as he grasped his arm, pointing to a flock of doves that was soaring overhead. His gaze never left Italy as he stared at the birds, his amber eyes following their path through the skies. It was then that he decided. He had to do something about this. He _had_ to do something. They were on vacation together, they were sharing a bed... who knew when he would have this kind of opportunity again? One where it felt so natural? He had to make a move. Germany didn’t know if he could go through another eighty years of this madness. Of them hovering in this awkward grey area between friendship and... whatever else there was. 

His musings were interrupted as Italy’s stomach grumbled. 

Italy glanced down. “Looks like it’s lunch time!” 

“I’m hungry too.” Germany agreed. “Are we close to the market?” 

_“Si!”_ Italy gripped Germany’s arm again as he pulled him around a corner. “In fact, it’s right around here!” 

They were facing a wide cobblestone street, the sidewalks occupied by booths and tents of various colors. There was a mild crowd of people moseying up and down the streets, pausing every now and again to chat amiably with neighbors and friends. The nearby tables and chairs of little cafes were all occupied with people drinking small coffees and eating delicious foods from the surrounding vendors. The collective chatter of the crowd formed an almost soothing buzz of friendly, warm tones. 

Italy peered excitedly up at Germany. “Are you ready to try some of the best food in the world?” 

Germany hummed. “With how hungry I am, I would eat anything... except perhaps England’s scones.” 

Italy laughed, pulling Germany around the barriers keeping the cars out of the market street. The two roamed around for several minutes, perusing the street all the way down to the last booths before turning back. “See anything you like?” 

“There’s so much. I can hardly keep track of what’s going on.” Germany admitted. Indeed, with all the people pacing around them, the smell of food cooking, the hot sun, and the rumbling of voices it was hard to keep track of what was going on around them. “I may just trust you with this one.” 

Italy beamed at him. “I have the perfect idea!” He pulled Germany over to a nearby cart and joined a line a few people deep. 

“You don’t have to run.” Germany muttered, slightly embarrassed. 

“Of course we have to run! Because then we get to the food faster!” 

Germany let out a light huff as the line moved forward. “Why couldn’t you be this athletic when we trained?” 

“Well there’s no reason to train now, Germany!” Italy pointed out. “Besides. We haven’t trained in ages!” 

“Perhaps we should start that up again. We should always be prepared.” 

“What? No!” Italy protested. “Why prepare for a war if we’re going to have peace forever and ever? The United Nations, Germany, the United Nations!” 

Germany grunted. Italy had a point, he supposed. Of course, there was never any guarantee. He was skeptical about peace forever. That was the dream, but he doubted it would come true. “Well we may as well stay in shape. Perhaps we could just establish an exercise regiment. We can do them at our own houses for convenience and time...” 

“That’s worse! It’s already bad enough that I have to exercise, but now I don’t even have you and Japan to keep me company! What if I’m running and I get attacked by a bad guy or a dog? Well a dog isn’t usually so bad, but it is when it’s chasing me and barking!” 

Germany steeled himself for what would likely turn into a classic Italy ramble. 

“And I’ll get so bored because I’ve listened to all the songs on my phone millions of times, and my legs will start feeling like rubber and I won’t even have you to yell at me and motivate me! And who will make sure I do my pushups correctly? You know I start cheating! Well that’s not really my fault, I’m just not disciplined enough to do full pushups. But then you get me to try my hardest even though I can only do a few! But then you’re nice to me and let me do the halfway pushups. And who will make sure I do the right amount?” 

Germany cleared his throat as the line moved forward. 

“And when my muscles get really, really, really sore, Japan won’t be there to make me tea and freeze my ice packs. And then we can’t have delicious meals afterword where we talk with each other and laugh and have fun conversations! That was my favorite part, Germany. The training sucked, but at least it sucked with all of us together!” 

Germany paused, ensuring that Italy was done before he started speaking. “ _Ja,_ well I can’t think of any other alternative.” 

“I have one!” Italy proposed. “We just don’t exercise, and we can have a sleepover!” 

Germany let out another sigh as they finally approached the cart. 

A teenager beamed at them, leaning forward on the surface. _"Good afternoon! What can I get you gentlemen?"_ His voice was warm, perfectly matching the Italian he spoke in.

_"Two olive cones, please!"_

As Italy finished, Germany noticed that there was a very grumpy old woman working behind the teenage boy. She appeared to be dumping small, batter-coated spheres in a vat of bubbling oil.   
_“Ok!”_ The boy replied. 

The old woman’s head snapped up as she glared. _“'Yes, sir ', Agostino.”_

Germany was getting a little irritated that he couldn’t understand what was going on. 

The old woman’s eyes widened in recognition. _“Italy?”_

Italy bashfully rubbed the back of his head. _“Yeah!"_

The woman chattered excitedly, coming forward and shaking Italy’s hand. The teenage boy followed, stunned, apparently unsure of what to do. Italy had a small blush gracing his cheeks as he conversed with the older woman. She pulled out a camera, likely asking if she could take a photo. They conversed for a moment longer before Italy turned to Germany. 

“She was wondering if you could take our picture in front of her cart.” He explained. 

“Oh. _Ja-_ er... _si._ ” Germany was rather embarrassed at his clumsy answer, but he took the camera from the old woman and stepped back. 

Italy immediately slung an arm around the older woman’s shoulders, flashing a peace sign with a cheesy grin. The woman’s wrinkled face had a smile of pure joy.

Germany took several pictures, thinking about how he hardly handled photos from his people with as much grace as Italy. He took pictures, of course, he loved his people! He owed everything to them, and they were everything to him. It’s just that he’s never been a people person. That had always been Prussia’s thing. He handed the camera back to the old woman. 

The old woman looked at the photos, beaming. The teenage boy was peering at the camera over her shoulder. The old woman nodded, satisfied. She reached over and clasped Germany on the shoulder. 

Germany, though he stiffened at the contact, allowed it. 

_"Thank you.”_

Germany felt a small smile come onto his face. _"You're welcome."_ The Italian was clumsy and heavily accented, but it was meaningful all the same. 

The woman faced Italy, capturing him in a hug. Rather than an angry old woman, she now seemed like a matronly grandmother. They chatted for a moment longer before the teenage boy brought out what looked like two cardboard cones stacked with those fried round spheres Germany had noticed earlier. Italy reached in his pocket for money, the old woman capturing his hand and pulling it to her, patting it. Germany couldn’t understand very much Italian, but he concluded that perhaps the old woman didn’t want him to pay. They spoke for a moment longer- perhaps arguing over the issue- before Italy relented with a grin. They waved their goodbyes, Italy smiling to himself as he popped one of the spheres into his mouth. 

“What are these?” Germany asked. 

“Deep fried olives! The olives are stuffed with meat, then deep fried. They’re delicious!” 

Germany hummed. He’d never been too into olives. He’d never disliked them, but they weren’t his favorite. He tried one, though. “Surprisingly good.” 

“Surprisingly?” Italy asked. “Italian food is the best in the world! Deep fried food included!” 

“Clearly you’ve never tried German street food.” 

Italy raised an eyebrow, popping another fried olive in his mouth. “Is that smack talk I hear?” 

“Perhaps.” Germany allowed, sitting at a nearby café table. 

“Maybe you’ll have to take me to your country and prove it!” Italy challenged as he also sat.

“Maybe I will.” 

Italy grinned. “Is that a promise?” 

Germany blinked. Oh. “Well... I suppose it is. You’ve never been there for a vacation, and I have been over here so many times.” 

“Oh, thank you, Germany! Can we do it tomorrow instead of you going home by yourself?” Italy asked. 

Germany smiled. Italy wasn’t dumb, not in the least. But he was simple. He tended to see things optimistically. Even governmental orders. “My boss needs me home by tomorrow morning, I’m sorry to say. No more vacations for a while.” 

Italy deflated, resting his face in his hand as he ate another fried olive. “Damn it. It was worth a shot, at least." 

Germany decided not to comment, deciding that he probably couldn't string together a competent sentence. He ignored the fluttery feeling in his chest, popping another fried olive in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be clear, there is one more chapter after this. the 18th chapter is a sneak peak of the hanahaki fic I'm working on! I'll see if I can update tomorrow. At the latest, Thursday will bring the last chapter! Thank you all for reading!


	17. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Italy is determined to take Germany to see the world's most beautiful sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesus, guys, this is it. Wowee.

They bounced among the different stalls, coming away with food until they were stuffed far too much. Germany bought Italy gelato at a gelato cart, Italy predictably taking ages to select a flavor out of the five available options. As Germany stood there, he spotted a flower stall. He scanned all the flowers, hardly noticing their vibrancy as he looked for... a lily! Perfect! Italy finally selected vanilla, Germany quickly paying the gelato salesmen before beckoning Italy over. 

“Where are we going?” Italy asked, licking his gelato. 

Germany stopped in front of the stand, sure that he looked extremely lost as he stumbled along in clumsy Italian. _"Please...”_ That was please, right? He pointed to the lily, looking apologetically at the woman. _"I don't speak Italian. Do you know English or German?"_ Germany had memorized that phrase for so many different languages it was hard to count. 

The florist laughed kindly. “Yes, I know English.” She adjusted her glasses. “It is alright. You want the lily?” 

Germany was relieved that she took it with grace. “Yes please.” 

She handed him the flower, smiling as he paid her for it. “Would you like it wrapped?” 

“No, thank you.” 

“Okay. Have a good day!” 

Germany nodded to her, walking away. 

Italy followed him. “You did well, Germany! And what a pretty flower! Did you know it’s-” 

“The national flower of Italy.” He thrust the flower out to Italy, staring unblinkingly ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact. “It’s for you.” 

Italy gasped, his smile somehow widening even further. “Really?” 

Germany risked a glance at his friend. “ _Ja_. South Italy said you liked them.” 

Italy took the flower, tucking it behind his ear. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Germany! It’s so pretty!” 

Germany smiled, slightly distracted by how the white of Italy’s smile seemed to dull the white of the petals. “You’re welcome.” 

The afternoon passed in a relaxed way. They wandered around the town, stopping at old ruins as they passed them. Germany would stay far too long, reading the plaques that accompanied the historical site, Italy hovering nearby and taking too many pictures. They wandered across various coffee shops, Italy wanting to stop occasionally. They would talk as their coffees slowly got cold, Telling each other amusing stories about the other countries, about fan encounters when they were just trying to grab groceries, and memories. Memories that Germany was a part of. Memories that Germany had made. It was a refreshing change. He laughed that afternoon in a relaxed way that was rather uncommon. And all this time, there would be casual touches on the shoulders and arms. The brushing of hands while they walked. The grabbing of Germany’s wrist whenever Italy saw something new and interesting. And there were gazes that lasted too long. And staring at Italy whenever he wasn’t looking, wondering how someone could look so perfect without even trying. And tracking the sun’s progress as it sunk lower in the sky, almost as if Italy were counting down how long it would be until he could take Germany to see the world’s most beautiful sunset. 

And there was Germany’s heart beating far too quickly to have been healthy. 

“Oh, it’s already almost dinner time!” Italy realized, looking at Germany’s watch. 

Germany hummed. “I’m not hungry. You?” 

“No.” 

Germany raised his eyebrows, surprised. 

“We ate so much at lunch that I can’t be hungry! Besides, we’re already so close to the gardens!” 

“The gardens?” 

They turned the corner, Italy spreading his arms out to display what looked like a castle. 

“Italy, I will admit I’m not a gardener. But this is a building.” Germany said. He read the sign on the front of the castle. “Villa Cimbrone? You brought us to a hotel?” 

“Not just any hotel, Germany.” Italy seized Germany’s hand, pulling him toward the castle and through the front door. 

A receptionist looked up from his computer with a smile. _“Welcome to - Italy?”_ His smile fell in shock. 

_"Hello! My friend Germany and I would like to see your lovely gardens! Is that okay?"_

_"Yes, of course! Follow me, sirs."_ The man got up from his desk, speaking into his dispatcher as he led them through the lobby. 

“What was that about?” Germany muttered to Italy. 

“I basically said that my friend Germany and I wanted to see the garden, and he said ‘yes’.” Italy’s tone told Germany that he had been expecting this. But of course, who will turn down their country’s icon? “Usually you would have to pay, but.. I don’t think that will be a problem for us.” 

“Probably not.” Germany took a moment to appreciate Italy’s ingenuity. 

The receptionist opened a door in the lobby, facing them. He said something in Italian, Italy raising his hand and shaking his head as he responded. The receptionist bowed his head quickly before he returned to his desk. 

“Follow me.” Italy said, leading Germany out the door. 

Germany followed Italy out in a square, the edges held up by stone pillars. Strands of ivy climbed up the pillars, framing the grey stone in threads of green. The sky was visible out of the top of the square, the blue fading into a slight yellow. In the middle of the square was a fountain, the sound of trickling water echoing off the stone. Italy, however, was quick to pull him through this before Germany had time to fully appreciate it. They wandered on a cobblestone sidewalk that twisted this way and that, through flowerbeds and topiaries and beautiful trees. It was indeed a sight to behold. It was the epitome of order and beauty, trimmed to perfection. The ocean was visible through some trees, though Germany was content to just enjoy what was around him. The sounds of birds singing, of the waves in the distance... there was a faint smell of something sweet in the air. But most of all, Germany enjoyed his time with Italy. Italy was looking this way and that, his curl fluttering with the leaves in the trees as a soft breeze played through them. He was alight with curiosity, drawing Germany’s attention to the things around them with what seemed to be increasing excitement. By the time Italy led them back toward the main area of the garden, it was almost sundown. 

They found themselves on a paved stretch of sidewalk leading to a statue, four pillars on each side holding up a domed roof. They meandered down the path, Germany keeping his eyes on the statue. By the time they were beside the statue, though, Germany’s attention was captured by the view beyond. He stepped forward. They were on a balcony, the edges rimmed by an iron railing. Every few feet, the railing was interrupted by a stone pillar, on which rested a carved bust of stone. In the middle of this balcony was an outward semicircle of iron railing. A place where someone could see the unobscured view. Side by side, the two walked toward the circle. They stood there, the breeze playing with Italy’s loose hair. 

The sun was a fiery orange, setting the surrounding clouds on fire and casting the sky with a light pink that faded into a deep fuchsia. Yellow surrounded this myriad of color, the entire flare framed with whatever little powder blue sky remained. Beneath the sun, the red sky was interrupted by the waving ocean. The water reflected the fiery colors above, setting it to motion as the water trembled with the tide. The trees and houses of the island were bathed in the golden orange light, almost as if it were accepting the sun’s warm embrace. It seemed as though Italy were right. Here was where the sun kissed the world goodnight. 

Germany looked over at Italy, taken aback at what he saw. 

Though the sun may have looked beautiful reflecting off the waves of the ocean, it was truly stunning on Italy’s hair as it waved in the wind. Though it was lovely as it set the sky on fire, it was gorgeous as it cast its rays on Italy’s face, showing the curvatures and shadows on his face. Italy’s skin accepted the sun better than the faces of the houses there ever could. And as Italy turned to him, Germany realized that the sun burning bright in the sky was pure darkness when compared to the light that was in Italy’s eyes. 

“I...” Germany cleared his throat. Italy had said it was the most beautiful sunset in the world. Germany was inclined to agree. But it wasn’t because of the sunset on his surroundings that he agreed with him, but because of how the sunset reflected off Italy. The man that he loved. “Italy I...” 

Italy smiled up at him. The world around him faded. It faded into blurred smears of color, like watercolor paints on wet paper. All that remained in complete clarity was him and Italy. 

“Italy, I...” Germany cleared his throat. God, what was he even supposed to say? He looked over, unable to string a competent sentence together as he looked at Italy. “Er... what I mean to say is-”

Italy leaned forward, his lips crashing against Germany’s. 

Germany’s eyes flared open, his mind almost completely stopped. A mental Windows Error noise. He was then finally aware of what was happening, his arms resting on Italy’s waist as his eyes shutting.

Italy’s arms wrapped reached over Germany’s broad shoulders, coming up around his neck. He broke the kiss, looking up in Germany’s eyes as his face split into a grin. 

Germany was stunned, him staring down at the smaller man and blinking stupidly.

“I love you too! So, so much!” Italy dissolved into laughter. 

Germany finally broke into a smile, mostly unaware of anything else except how happy he was. He leaned down, Italy’s arms coming back up around his neck as he rested their foreheads together.   
Germany didn’t know his past. He didn’t know if he was Holy Rome. He was unaware of what had passed, who he was, who he was going to be someday. But as Germany finally, finally pressed his lips against Italy’s, he was unafraid of this. Because he knew who he was now. In the present. And more than anything else, he knew that Italy was his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for corny endings, don't mind me. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading this! A special thanks to BadWolfHufflepuff for reading and commenting not just on here, but on Tumblr too! You're a freaking superstar, man. Make sure to check out their work. I was only able to check out one fic so far, but it was STUNNING. 
> 
> Oh, yeah. My Tumblr. I have a tumblr! If you guys want updates on fic progress, to request prompts, ships and more, it's named: 'JuliusSneezer's Hetalia Fics'. Just type in 'JuliusSneezer' and you should be good. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, all! Coming soon is a preview for that hanahaki fic!


	18. Sneak Peak of Next Fic:

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to my next fanfic, in which Germany has come down with Hanahaki disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT AN EPILOGUE.

Germany sat in his tent, his stare icy as he read the headline in the paper. He was seated at his desk, the surface of the wood littered with assorted pieces of paper, maps, reports, expenses. Death tallies. He noiselessly set the paper down onto the desk, folding his hands and staring ahead. Thinking. He supposed he couldn’t blame him. Who could? They were living in a personal hell. They were doomed to lose. So why did his heart ache with something akin to… betrayal? 

He didn’t even look at the flap of the tent as it opened. In his periphery, he caught the olive green of a German uniform. “What?” He asked. 

“You know I don’t speak German.” Said a familiar, light voice. 

Germany’s heart dropped in his chest. He whipped his gaze onto the person who entered his tent. 

Italy looked unusual out of his trademark blue uniform. He was donned in a German military coat that was clearly too big for him. On his head was a hat similar to Germany’s own. Italy’s curl had been smoothed beneath the cap. His face was heavy with what could have been regret, fear, or a mix of the two. 

Germany stood from his seat at the desk. “Italy.” 

“Germany.” Italy returned, his voice remarkably level with apprehension.

The two paused, both of their minds running far too quickly to work properly. 

“Did you read the news?” Italy asked. 

Wordlessly, Germany nodded. 

Italy paused, scanning Germany’s expressionless face. “Germany-” 

“You need to leave.” Germany interrupted, his voice a low grunt. “You’re an enemy. If you stay, I’m going to catch you.” 

Italy stared at him, his face unchanging. He wordlessly strode up to Germany. He slowly drew closer until there was only a couple feet between them. “No, you won’t.” 

Germany stared down at Italy. Into his determined brown eyes. It was an expression that he had seen increasingly during the war, but one he had still not grown accustomed to. He felt his heart clench painfully as he turned away, sitting behind his desk. He didn’t know why he felt the need to separate him and Italy. 

“Germany, you can do it too.” Italy said, walking over to the desk. “You can leave this. Come with me. We can find Japan and convince him to do it too!”

Germany shook his head. “I can’t.” 

“Of course you can!” Italy’s face was marred with an insistent frown. He planted his hands on the surface of Germany’s desk. “You can surrender. It’s hopeless, Germany. Your boss is dead. Your people are dying.” 

Germany grit his teeth. “I am aware,” he finally looked up at Italy. “That my people are dying!” 

The two countries stared at each other. Italy’s stubborn, sorrowful eyes met Germany’s desperate blue ones. 

Italy’s eyes welled with barely-suppressed tears. “Then just run away with me. I know you’re always telling me not to, Germany, but… I think that for once, the brave thing to do is run.” 

Germany’s glare fell away. “I can’t. I can’t betray my country like that.” 

“Germany, you could die!” A tear escaped Italy’s eye and traced a salty path down his cheek. “Please, I can’t lose you too. I can’t lose Japan. Not after Grandpa Rome and Romano, and…” He removed his hands from the desk, instead using them to wipe away his tears. “I can’t lose you too. You guys are all I have left!” 

Germany was at a loss. He knew the risk. But he couldn’t betray his country. He couldn’t surrender until his government decided he could. “You won’t lose me.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

Germany nodded. “I know.” 

The two looked at each other again. Their minds both whirred with things they could say. Things they wished they could say. Things that they knew were useless to the situation, but so important to the other. 

Germany stood from his desk, sighing. “You need to leave. I get a lot of foot traffic in my tent. If someone comes in and sees you… escape out the back of my tent. Escape through the tent city. At all costs, avoid the trenches. There’s a military car dispatching for supplies in an hour. If you make it there, you are guaranteed a safe exit.” 

More tears escaped Italy’s eyes as he lurched forward, his arms wrapping around Germany’s waist as he tucked his head under Germany’s chin. “It’s not too late to come with me. You can still get out safely.” 

Germany allowed himself the rare luxury of returning the hug, his throat feeling tight as he felt Italy’s hands curl around the back of his uniform. “I know.” 

Italy tightened his grip momentarily before he suddenly let go, turning without a word and pushing the flap of the tent open. He dropped it behind him, not looking back as he left Germany behind. 

Germany stared at the flap of the tent, wishing more than anything else that he could follow Italy out of that godforsaken camp. That he could follow him into a future like their past. One of naps taken beneath shade trees after a day of hard training. Of Christmases spent together. Of Italy dragging him and Japan out of the tent, insistent on stargazing. He wished that he could follow Italy on whatever crazy adventures he dragged them on next. He was suddenly seized with a choking sensation. He planted a hand on his desk to keep him upright. 

His throat burned as he coughed, hacking harder than what felt normal for a customary cold or sickness. His throat was almost completely blocked with something as Germany coughed and coughed. At last, it was unstuck. Whatever it was, it was stuck to his tongue. His nose wrinkling in disgust, he spit it into his hand. Germany frowned. Whatever it was, it was furled and covered in spit. He gently smoothed it out, his face turning stark white. There in his hand was a single, clean lily petal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon... ish. I think? Well it's coming, it's just a matter of when. XD


End file.
